


Resuscitation

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, First Times, M/M, Series, h/c, other pairing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair take a sabbatical from Cascade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resuscitation

## Resuscitation

by gowestgirl

Some foul language. Other than that, none, really.

Disclaimer: They're pointless anyway, so I'm not even going to bother. Sue me if you want, but I've got nothing! So there!   
Eleven months in the making, it had a longer gestation and a delivery that was nearly as painful as that of a real baby <g>. This is the second story in what I'm calling the Family Tree series. I suppose it's not *absolutely* essential that you have read the first part -- Reunion -- but it would certainly help if you had. The third (and final) installment will follow at some undertermined point in the future.   
A squillion thanks to my two fabulous betas (and pals) lattelover and Maddy H. They try so hard but I'm so damn stubborn <g>. All remaining faults are mine and mine alone.   
All feedback, both positive and negative (but polite!!!) is welcome.

This story is a sequel to: [Reunion](1_2000_drama/reunion.)

* * *

Resuscitate - v. To bring back to life or consciousness; revive. 

I 

The heat was so oppressive that I felt like I could barely breathe; but after everything that had happened in the last month, it occurred to me that it probably wasn't really the heat at all. I ran my hand across the back of my neck, wiping away the rivulet of sweat that was working its way toward the already soaked collar of my white cotton t-shirt, and tuned into the conversation before me. 

"We don't get too many tourists in Baieverte, mon." the driver said in a lilting accent as he navigated the jeep across the bumpy, unpaved road. 

"Yeah, that's why we chose it." Blair yelled over the rough sound of the engine. 

"So, where you two from?" 

"From Washington, in the US." Blair shouted. 

"So, you get to see that president of yours wit' all his mistresses?" 

"No, not that Washington," Blair said with a laugh. "Washington State. It's different. We're on the northwest coast, near Canada." 

"Oh." the driver said as he took a corner at precarious speeds, oblivious of the fact that he had nearly missed hitting a goat that was tethered to a tree at the side of the road. I reached out and held on to the roll bar next to me. 

"So, what's your name?" 

"Emile." 

"Hey, Emile, I'm Blair and this quiet guy in the back is Jim." 

I tuned out the conversation then, and focused on the exotic, green landscape speeding by. St. Sebastian. I'd never heard of the place before Blair mentioned it. We'd been looking through travel magazines trying to decide where we could get away to, and although we couldn't decide on a specific locale for our sabbatical, we did agree that we wanted to go someplace warm and secluded. In all honesty, I had been thinking of someplace rather less inferno-like, but then Blair remembered his friend Dan talking about a little island that he had stumbled upon by accident during a summer boating trip in the Caribbean. As he remembered it, Dan had described it as an exotic paradise that had yet to be discovered by the outside world. And when I heard that, the seclusion factor outweighed what I figured would be the intense temperatures. 

So, Blair called Dan, who, it turned out, had struck up a friendship with a bartender on the island and still kept in touch. Dan called the bartender, who contacted someone he knew with a house to rent on the beach. Now, two weeks later, after hastily getting our affairs in order, a nine-hour plane ride, and an hour-long boat trip, we were on our way to the beach house we were renting for a ridiculously low monthly rate. We had no idea how long we'd stay; we planned to play things by ear and see how we felt from day to day. 

Blair's voiced filtered back into my consciousness. 

"So, what's there to do around here?" 

"Not a whole hell of a lot, mon. That's why we don't got no tourists." 

Blair chuckled. It was a nice sound, deep, warm and throaty. Soothing. It enveloped me just like the thick, moisture-laden air. And I couldn't help thinking - not for the first time, hell, not even for the millionth time - how incredibly fucking glad I was to have him in my life. 

"It's pretty quiet in these parts, especially where you're goin'." the driver shouted across the roar of the engine. 

"What do the locals do for fun, then?" 

"Well, we go to church, listen to the radio, read, visit friends." 

"So, it's pretty relaxing, huh?" 

"Ya, mon, I suppose that's one way to describe it." the driver said with a laugh. 

After a few more minutes of spleen shattering driving, the jeep came to a halt by the side of the road. 

"Here we are, mon." 

"What do you mean, here we are? There's nothing here." Blair said cautiously. 

I looked around, dialing up my senses to detect any sign of danger. But there was none. I turned back to see the driver smile. "Your house is down that path a ways, closer to the water. There's no driveway; you'll have to walk from here. You'll see it. Here's the key." 

Blair took the key from the driver's hand as I jumped out the back of the jeep and grabbed our gear. 

"If you need to get back to town, there's a bus that runs down this road twice a day, once in the morning and once around lunchtime, give or take an hour or so. You'll hear it coming. The fare is 50 francs." 

"All right, thanks, Emile." Blair said. 

"You guys give me a holler if you need a ride somewhere. I generally hang out in the town square." Emile said and with a honk of the horn, he pulled off, leaving us in a cloud of dust. 

With a cough, Blair waved away the grainy haze, and then in silent agreement, we headed down the densely wooded path. About 50 yards through the overgrown, foliage, we emerged into a clearing that revealed the rear of a little whitewashed house. In the back yard, with its sparse, sandy grass, there was a little building - a storage hut, presumably - a clothesline, and an open shower over a tiled, cement base. 

Continuing on to the front of the house, we mounted the terrace that wrapped around the building and turned to survey the scene before us. The little house fronted a vast expanse of beach with the whitest sand I had ever seen. Beyond the beach, the ocean was so blue it reminded me of something out of a child's box of crayons. Overhead, the sky was bright and clear, with only a few wisps of white clouds floating by. The gentle crash of the surf was like a simple tune, but the accompanying sound of the breeze rustling through the fronds of the coconut palms, the buzz of the sand flies, and the cries of the sea gulls overhead, turned it into a symphony of nature. Down on the beach, it was cooler; by my estimation, the temperature was a perfect 85 degrees. Okay, this was going to be better than I thought. 

"Man." Blair said in awe. 

"Yeah. Ditto." I echoed. 

"We've got all of this to ourselves?" Blair asked in amazement. 

I stretched out my hearing and sight. "There's another house about a quarter mile down the beach. It sounds like there's one person inside." I listened again. "Nothing else for at least a mile." 

"Cool." Blair said and he turned and unlocked the door. 

We stepped into the darkened house. I dropped my bag and walked around, opening the wooden blinds that served as windows, letting in fresh air and the afternoon sun. 

The house was simple. No, humble was a better word. The main room was large, with white, stone walls, adorned only by one small, colorful abstract painting, and a cool, white, tiled floor. Huge windows covered three walls, and provided panoramic views of the ocean and the beach. In the rear of the house was a tiny galley kitchen with small gas stove, a mini-fridge, and an old washing machine that looked like something I'd seen once in a museum on a junior-high field trip. Next to the kitchen sat a wooden table with two chairs. Along the rear wall, two doors were visible. One led to the back yard we had already seen. Further investigation revealed that the other led to a bathroom with plain white fixtures and a huge, old-fashioned, clawfoot tub. The front of the house was the living area, with a couple of wicker chairs covered with canvas cushions, a battered wood coffee table, a teak armoire, and an old green sofa that had definitely seen better days. 

To my right, a wide wooden door led to the only bedroom. A spartan room, its centerpiece was a double bed underneath a swath of mosquito netting that hung from a circular frame on the ceiling and was tied into knot to keep it out of the way. A little four-drawer dresser and a nightstand were the room's only other furnishings, but it needed no further adornments. Its winning feature was the folding doors that opened onto the covered terrace running the length of the house's facade. With the doors folded back and the room's other windows open to that magnificent ocean view, it was like staring at one of the world's great masterpieces. Nothing else was needed; even one additional accessory would have been overkill. 

"Hey, there's a letter." Blair said, crossing the main room to the little wooden table. 

He picked up an envelope and pulled out its contents. 

"It's from our landlord. 'Welcome Gentlemen. I hope you enjoy your stay in St. Sebastian. Just to let you know, the power can be erratic and blackouts are frequent. There are plenty of candles in the pantry, and in a real emergency, there is a small gas-powered generator in the storage hut out back. The refrigerator should keep things cold for up to a day without electricity, as long as you don't open it too often. For supplies, visit the open-air market in Baieverte; it operates every day but Sunday, from 6:00 am to 2:00 pm. Should you have any difficulties, please do not hesitate to contact me. You can reach me at the Lyon Bakery in town. Or you can always send a message through Emile. Regards, Georges Lyon.'" 

"Sounds good." I said and I picked up my duffle bag. But as I turned toward the bedroom, it hit me that there was only one bed and suddenly I wasn't really sure what to do. I put the bag back down again, trying to stall, trying to hide my sudden case of nerves, but Blair picked up on it instantly. He looked at me with raised eyebrows. 

"Uhm, Sandburg?" 

"Yeah?" 

"There's only one bed." 

"And your point is?" Blair asked with a wicked grin. 

My stomach lurched queasily at the joke, and my face must have reflected my discomfort, because Blair sobered immediately. 

"Relax, Jim, I'm just joking." he said as he crossed the room to the sofa. He yanked off the cushions and pulled up the mattress underneath. "This is a sofa bed. You take the bedroom; I'll sleep out here." 

I felt inches tall. I knew Blair had only been teasing, but he'd hit a rather raw nerve. Because the fact was that although we had declared our love for each other and shared that one life-altering kiss, we had yet to take our relationship any further. And I didn't have the faintest idea what, exactly, was holding me back. Blair had been a saint about it. He hadn't said a word, not that I would have known what to tell him if he had. But I wanted to try. He deserved an explanation. 

"Oh. I didn't mean - " 

"I know, Jim. I know." he said gently. "Don't worry about it. I said no pressure and I meant it. Okay?" 

Chicken-shit that I was, I took the out that he gave me. He did deserve an explanation, but I just couldn't do it now. Later. I'd do it later. 

"Yeah. Thanks, Chief. I'll get settled, then." I said and I took my bag into the bedroom. 

We hadn't brought much. Nothing more than we could each fit in one duffle; that was the rule we'd established. So it didn't take me long to unpack. I was putting the last of my underwear in the top drawer when I heard Blair from the next room. 

"Uhm, Jim." 

"Yeah." 

"I think we blew it, man." 

"What do you mean?" I asked as I walked back into the main room. 

Blair tossed open the cabinet doors to reveal.... absolutely nothing. 

"Oh, I see. I guess we should have stocked up before our arrival, huh?" 

"Yeah, there was so much other stuff going on that I didn't even think of it. So what do we do now? Because I gotta tell you, I am _starving_." 

"Hmm, I'm guessing there's no pizza delivery in these parts." I said as my own stomach rumbled in angry accord. I was feeling rather ravenous myself. It had been almost six hours since we'd both managed to choke down a microscopic portion of something that the airline had tried to pass off as penne pasta with grilled chicken. It had tasted more like wet cardboard to these enhanced senses. 

"No, probably not." 

"All right, then, so we improvise." 

"Improvise." Blair said doubtfully. 

"Sure. We've got fishing poles, and there are a couple of hours of sunlight left. We catch our dinner." 

"Okay, sure. I'm down with that. We're resourceful types. We can do this." 

"Good. Change into a pair of shorts, grab your pole, and let's go." 

We changed quickly and made our way down to the water. And standing thigh-deep in the surf, I managed to catch a fish large enough to feed us both after only an hour. As I cleaned the fish, Blair disappeared into the overgrown foliage in search of what, I was afraid to ask. 

"What'cha got there?" I asked when he emerged from the bush fifteen minutes later, grubby, but smiling from ear to ear, arms laden with goods. 

Blair proudly dropped his booty at my feet, a mango, a couple of green bananas and a banana leaf, and two limes. 

"It's a freakin' farmers' market back there, man! But that's not all, I realized while I was rooting around that the piece de resistance was right next to us all along." 

"And what, prey tell, was that?" I asked, amused by my partner's enthusiasm. 

"We got a tree full of coconuts right on our doorstep." Blair said excitedly. 

"You and Mary Anne gonna bake a coconut cream pie?" 

"You know, Jim, I'm beginning to see a very unattractive side of you." 

"Only just?" 

"No, seriously, you ever had fish cooked in coconut water? I'm not talking about the thick white stuff made from the pulverized flesh that you get in Thai restaurants. I'm talking about the natural water that's inside the coconut. I had it a couple of times when I was on expedition in Africa. Trust me. You haven't _lived_ until you've tasted it!" 

I nodded, and then looked up at the tree and the coconuts that hung securely a good 30 feet off the ground. "I'm sure I haven't. But tell me, Julia Child, how you gonna get the coconuts off the tree?" I asked with a smirk. 

The grin on Blair's face died as he looked up and realized how tall the tree was and that it had no branches to assist with the climbing. When I was in South America, I used to watch young boys shimmy up the towering coconut trees like lizards, using only their bare feet as leverage to push themselves up. It required the flexibility and dexterity of a Chinese acrobat, something neither Blair nor I possessed. I'm sure he had seen the same thing on his various travels. 

"Oh. I hadn't thought of that." 

I smiled smugly, then stood and deposited the cleaned fish on the plate I'd brought from inside the house and rinsed my hands in water from the outdoor tap. "Stand back and learn." I said as I wiped my hands on my shorts. 

Scouring the ground, I found a good-sized rock and picked it up. Then I stood back and focused my sight until I could clearly see the vine connecting the coconut to the tree. Then I pulled back and hurled the stone, connecting dead on and severing the vine. 

Blair looked up at me, a megawatt smile lit up his face and his eyes sparkled with admiration, as the coconut fell to the sandy earth with a satisfying thud. I basked in the feeling. 

"Man, I love having you around." 

"Come on, Julia. Let's go make dinner." I said, and I picked up my plate of cleaned fish and headed inside. 

So we dined on our hard-earned feast of fresh fish simmered in coconut water and lime juice, with a side of green bananas baked to perfection in envelopes made of their own leaves, and a dessert of sublimely sweet mango slices and slippery pieces of coconut meat. All of which was washed down with the last of the bottled water Blair had bought in the airport on the trip over. It was divinely simple, and more satisfying than either of us could have imagined. 

And as the sun went down, the jet lag and our full bellies took their toll and we both found ourselves struggling to keep our eyes open, so we retreated to our individual beds. And maybe it was foolhardy, but I couldn't resist leaving the French doors to the terrace wide open so I could gaze at the stars and feel the cool breeze blowing off the ocean. There was hardly a soul around for miles. And I was a sentinel, after all, I would hear anyone coming long before they could do me harm. 

oOo 

Warm. Wet. Rough. It tickled a little. In my dream, I laughed and looked down to see what felt so odd across my hand, but there was nothing there. Then the sluggish synapses started firing and sent out a warning. Not a dream. Not a dream. Not a dream. My eyes flew open, and I jerked back, yanking my hand from where it had been hanging over the edge of the bed. And I was shocked to see a big yellow dog skitter backward at the sudden movement, collar jingling and nails clicking on the tile floor. I shook my head and blinked once to make sure that I wasn't still dreaming. But nope, it was real. A golden lab sat calmly next to the bed, staring inquisitively at me with soulful brown eyes. He was a good-sized dog, fully grown, but probably not much more than a year old; his youth was apparent in his face and his demeanor. 

"Hey there, fella. Where'd you come from?" I asked, cautiously sticking out my hand to rub the dog behind its ears. 

The dog turned his head and licked at my hand, panting happily at the attention. I glanced out through the open doors, but there was no one on the beach who appeared to be the dog's owner. 

"Well, you don't seem to have an owner, buddy. So let's see what we can do for you, all right?" I said as I climbed out of bed and pulled on my robe. Padding barefoot across the cool tile, I walked into the main room, the dog at my heels. I twisted open the blinds to let in the sun, then went into the little kitchen. 

As the bright sun hit him, Blair groaned and pulled his pillow over his eyes. 

"Morning, Sunshine." I called from the kitchen. 

"Mmghffgh." 

"What was that?" 

"You're the guy with the super hearing. You can't tell?" Blair mumbled from beneath the pillow. 

"Sorry, the super ears don't come with a gibberish translator attachment." 

"Ha ha. Very funny. What time is it?" 

"Not sure. I forgot to reset my watch when we arrived. By the looks of the sun, though, probably about eight." 

Blair groaned again. Then peeked out from beneath the pillow, to be greeted by the sight of the dog sitting next to his bed, studying him. 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Is there a golden lab sitting next to my bed?" 

"Yeah, Chief." 

"Oh. Okay. Just checking." Blair said and then he pulled the pillow back over his head. 

Searching through the cupboards, I found a large bowl and filled it with water from the tap. "Hey, boy, you thirsty?" I asked as I set the bowl on the floor. I wished I'd had something more than water to offer him, like a treat of some sort, but that was the best I could do. It was clearly welcome, though, as the dog scampered over to the kitchen and began drinking thirstily from the bowl. 

With another loud groan, Blair tossed the pillow and blankets aside and sat up. 

"I'd give you everything I own for a cup of coffee, man." 

"No luck, Sunshine. We need to shop, remember?" 

"Oh, shit." Blair moaned, falling back into the pillows again. 

"Jim?" Blair said after a minute of pondering the ceiling. 

"Yeah?" 

"Why is there a dog in our house?" 

"I don't know. He seems to have wandered in while we were sleeping. There's no one on the beach and he doesn't have any tags, so I don't know who he belongs to." 

Blair sat up again. "You didn't hear him come in?" 

"No. It's the darndest thing. I didn't wake up until he started licking my hand. I don't know what to make of it. I'm not all together sure I like it." 

"Your senses aren't offline, are they?" 

"No, other than this, they seem ok." 

Blair studied the dog for a minute as he finished his drink and came to sit next to me. 

"He's friendly enough, but still..." I said as I kneeled down and began to scratch the animal underneath his chin, which he ate up, clearly relishing the attention. 

"Well maybe that's it then." Blair said after a minute. 

"What's it?" I asked, looking up. 

"Maybe you sensed that it was friendly, and knew that there was no need for alarm." 

"While I was sleeping?" 

"Well, think about it, Jim. Ancient sentinels lived in the bush, surrounded by all kinds of wildlife. If they woke up every time some harmless animal scampered by, they'd never get any sleep." Blair theorized. 

"Yeah. I suppose it makes sense." I stood. "All right, up and at 'em, Sunshine. We need to get dressed and catch that bus into town so we can get some supplies." 

"What are we gonna do with the dog?" Blair asked as he climbed out of bed and started folding his linens. 

"I'm pretty sure he'll be able to look after himself." 

Just then, we both turned at the sound of a woman's shout from down the beach. 

"Bodie!" 

The dog's ears perked up and he scampered into the next room and out through the folding doors. 

"I think we've found the dog's owner." I said, and Blair and I walked outside to see the dog run down the sand toward a woman. 

"There you are! Bad boy! You had me so worried. I've been looking all over for you." the young woman chastised as the dog frolicked around her. 

She rubbed his head, then looked up and spotted us on the terrace. 

"Oh, hello. I didn't realize I had new neighbors." she said as she approached the house. 

We descended the steps to meet the woman on the sand. I couldn't help noticing that she was very pretty, with flawless mocha skin, and long, black, curly hair pulled into a ponytail beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat. She wore a maillot and sarong in a matching pink floral fabric that was as bright as the island sunshine. She was about Blair's age, perhaps, with no accent to speak of. 

"Hi. Jim Ellison." I said, extending my hand. 

"Nice to meet you, Jim. I'm Allison Seabrook." she said with a smile that reached all the way to her large, brown, almond shaped eyes. 

Blair shook the woman's hand as well. "And I'm Blair Sandburg." 

"I'm terribly sorry about Bodie. He runs off sometimes. I hope he didn't bother you." 

"Bother? No, not at all. He was a bit of a surprise, though not necessarily an unwelcome one." I said. 

"Good, I'm glad. So, when did you arrive?" 

"Last night. Unfortunately, we neglected to get supplies before we arrived. So we need to go into town to shop." 

Allison glanced down at her watch. "Oh, well you'd better hurry. The bus should be by in about a half an hour. It's been mostly on time this week, so you might get lucky and not have to wait too long. If you miss this one, though, there won't be another until about 1:00." 

"Well, we'd better get going then. I'm sorry to be rude. We'd love to chat, but..." I said. 

"No, don't be silly. I understand. I'm just down the beach a couple of hundred yards. Stop by sometime and I'll tell you where all the hot spots are around town." she said with a winning smile and she turned and headed down the beach, calling after the dog, which followed devotedly behind her. 

"Hey, man, we gotta hurry." Blair said, and he raced into the house, with me close behind. 

We washed and changed quickly, then locked up the little house and scrambled to the road, just in time to catch the bus into town. And Emile had been right. Its arrival was announced well in advance. You didn't need sentinel ears to hear the rickety old bus approaching on the winding roads. When it slowed to a halt, the boxy, old, red and blue vehicle looked like something you might have seen in a communist country before the fall. In fact, judging by the many layers of rust and the roaring engine badly in need of a tune up, it may well have been a hand-me-down from one of those places. I wondered, as we climbed aboard and paid our fare to the conductor, whether we would actually make it the ten miles into town. The look on Blair's face told me he was thinking the same thing. 

The bus was already half full of locals, some well-dressed and likely heading to work, others more modestly attired in threadbare but scrupulously clean white cotton shirts and khaki pants or skirts. Some carried baskets or boxes of fruits and vegetables, perhaps for sale at the market. Others sat quietly, looking out the window or chatting with a neighbor. 

"Hey, how's it going? Good morning. How you doing?" Blair chattered to the other passengers as we made our way toward an empty seat at the rear of the bus. And I couldn't help noticing that we earned more than our fair share of curious glances from people whom I suspect rarely saw white faces in their midst. 

When we'd found our seat, the driver shifted into gear with a grinding screech that made my teeth ache, and we were off to town. It was a longer ride than we expected, with the bus stopping every quarter mile or so to pick up more passengers. During the ride, I contented myself with examining the countryside that rolled past, while Blair, I could tell, delighted in putting his anthropologist's skills to work. 

He quietly observed the elderly women boarding the bus with their baskets full of goods. He watched the young boys that jumped off the bus at each stop and loaded boxes and baskets of goods onto the roof to be tied down with ragged pieces of rope. And he stared appreciatively at the dainty young women dressed in pretty linen dresses that were magically devoid of wrinkles, despite the heat and the crush of the increasingly crowded vehicle. 

About half way to town, we gave our seat over to a middle-aged woman carrying a basket of eggs, and her young daughter, who was dressed in a prim blue and white school uniform and carrying a backpack laden with books. We stood, holding onto the overhead storage racks to keep from being tossed about too badly as the bus continued its journey into town. 

Finally, approximately 45 minutes after we'd boarded, we disembarked in the bustling town square. 

"Please say we can get some breakfast before we start shopping." Blair said as he donned his sunglasses. 

"Ah, a man after my own heart." I said as I scanned the area. 

Blair watched me as I scented the air. It didn't take long for me to pick up on a tantalizing scent. 

"This way." I said, turning and leading the way down the crowded pavement. 

A block away, we came across a modest caf. We stepped inside and helped ourselves to an empty table near the front window. 

"Good mornin', Sweetness." 

Blair looked up with a grin at the older waitress, dressed in a pale pink cotton uniform that hugged her ample curves. 

"What can I get for you cute young 'tings?" 

"We would kill for a cup of that fabulous coffee we smell." Blair said. 

"Two coffees comin' right up." the woman said and she retreated to the kitchen. 

"What are you gonna get?" I asked as I studied a menu. 

"I'm not sure. I may just ask her to recommend something." 

"I'm not even sure what some of this stuff is." 

"That's the beauty of it, Jim. It's a dining adventure." 

"All right, Mr. Pan Cultural Cuisine. I think I'm just gonna stick with what I know today." 

The waitress returned and placed two steaming cups of coffee in front of us. 

"All right then, Sweetness, what can Miss Edith get you to eat?" 

"I don't know, Miss Edith, what do you recommend?" Blair asked. 

"We have an ackie and saltfish with fried dumplings that will knock your socks off." the woman answered, charmed by the young foreigner. 

"That sounds perfect. I'll have that." 

I looked across my menu at my partner. "What, exactly, is that?" 

"I have no idea. But it sounds fabulous." Blair said with a wicked grin. 

I shook my head. 

"And what about you, honey?" Miss Edith asked me. 

"I'll have scrambled eggs with bacon and toast." 

"All right then." Miss Edith said, taking both our menus. "And how 'bout some orange juice, gentlemen? I'll squeeze it fresh just for you." 

"Miss Edith, are you taken? Because I think I love you." Blair said. 

"Wicked boy!" Miss Edith admonished, her delighted laugh echoing throughout the restaurant as she retreated to the kitchen once again. 

I echoed the older woman's laugh, endlessly entertained by Blair's magnetic personality that won over anyone that came near, and apparently transcended all racial, cultural, and geographic boundaries. Blair grabbed his cup of coffee and doctored it with some cream - real heavy cream, not milk, I noted - and sugar. Then he raised the cup and took a sip. A groan of pleasure escaped him as the smoky, full-bodied liquid went down. 

"Oh, my god, Jim. This is the best coffee I have ever tasted in my entire life!" he exclaimed. 

He took another sip and his eyes fluttered shut with pleasure. "I swear to god, I've had orgasms that haven't been nearly as satisfying as this coffee." 

"I'm sorry to hear that, Sandburg." I murmured as I raised my own cup and took a sip. As I swallowed, though, I had to admit that the kid was right. This had to be the best coffee I'd ever tasted. And coming from one of the coffee capitals of the Pacific Northwest, that was really saying something. 

Miss Edith returned minutes later with two small glasses of frothy orange juice, and a refill for our already empty coffee cups. When the waitress had departed, Blair took a sip of the juice and a let out a moan that bordered on obscene. I felt my cheeks growing red as some of the other diners looked in our direction. 

"Jesus Christ, Jim, did you taste this juice? Man, my mouth has never been so fucking happy." 

"Gee, Chief, would you like me to leave you alone with your coffee and your orange juice?" I stage whispered across the table. 

"I'm sorry, man. " Blair said with an embarrassed grin. "I just can't help it. I have _never_ tasted anything so good. You know, there's just something about tropical fruits fresh at the source that can't compare to the pale, pesticide laden, chemically enhanced imitations we get in the states. The flavors are so alive here that it makes you feel like everything you've ever tasted before was through a protective coating that covered your tongue. I may never be able to drink orange juice again when we return home." 

Finally, Miss Edith returned with two plates and set them before us. "There you go, Sweetness." she said to Blair, then she straightened and addressed us both. "You two enjoy, and you just let me know if I can get you anyting else." 

"Thank you." we said in unison as we eagerly picked up our forks. 

I reached for the salt and pepper to doctor my eggs, then looked across at Blair's plate. "I don't remember you ordering eggs." I said as I eyed something that looked suspiciously like my own scrambled eggs, except that they were mixed with onions and green peppers. 

"I didn't." Blair said as he dipped in his fork and cautiously took a taste. "No, man, not eggs." 

"What, then?" I asked. 

Blair took another, bigger taste. "I'm not sure, but geez it tastes good. Taste it!" 

I dipped my fork in and took a bite. "Mmmm, not bad." 

Blair studied the rest of the contents on his plate. "Well, this is clearly the saltfish." he said, poking at the thick flakes of white meat. "And this must be the fried dumplings." he said, picking up one of the little balls of dough fried to a golden brown, and biting into it. "I guess the yellow stuff must be the ackie." 

And as Blair dived into his meal, nearly humming with joy with every forkful, I buttered my toast and smeared it with a generous layer of orange marmalade. Then I took a bite of a delicious, dense, doughy bread, the likes of which I had never tasted before, and tucked into my eggs and bacon. I couldn't deny that every aspect of this simple meal was absolutely fabulous. 

We ate greedily, with a minimum of conversation, until not even a crumb of our meals remained. I was fairly surprised that we didn't actually lick the plates clean. 

"My, you two sure polished that off quickly." Miss Edith said when she returned to collect our plates. 

"Miss Edith, I think that was the best meal I've ever eaten. Are you sure I can't have your hand in marriage?" Blair said. 

"All right now, you stop it. I know your type. Up to absolutely no good." Miss Edith chastised as she cleared the table of empty plates, glasses, and silver. 

Blair grinned as the woman set a check down on the table. "So, what brings you two fine young men to St. Sebastian? You know, we don't get too many tourists round these parts." 

"Oh, we were just looking for someplace nice to visit and heard that this place fit the bill." I said as I picked up the check, studied it, and pulled a couple of bills out of my pocket. Blair raised his eyebrows at me in inquiry as to whether I needed any money from him; I shook my head. 

"So, how long you two going to be wit us?" Miss Edith asked. 

"We're playing it by ear." Blair responded. 

"Well, if you're going to be around for a while, I sure hope you'll come back and see Miss Edith again." 

"Miss Edith," Blair said as he rose from his chair. "If you promise to keep serving us meals like the one we had today, you're going to have to beat us off with a stick." 

Miss Edith laughed a hearty laugh, her generous bosom rising and falling with each guffaw. "Wicked boy. Wicked, wicked boy." she echoed and she took her plates and disappeared behind the swinging door into the kitchen. 

"You know you're incorrigible, don't you?" I asked as we emerged into the bright, morning sun. 

"Oh, I know. I can't help it. It's a sickness." Blair said with a grin. 

"I won't disagree with that." I murmured. 

"You sure you don't need any money from me?" 

"Naw, I don't think so. Both of our meals came to the budget busting equivalent of $4 US." I said as I put on my sunglasses. 

"You're shittin' me! All that food we ate was only $4?" 

"That's it." 

"It's almost criminal. I feel guilty. I'd forgotten what it's like to be in a third world country. To be the evil imperialists, taking advantage of the cheap labor, resources, and goods." Blair said as we headed toward the market. 

"Well, you can apologize later. I'm sure they charged us what they thought was a fair price." 

"Yeah. You're right. It's just been a while." 

"So we'll go contribute to the GNP now by doing our shopping." 

"All right. You're on." 

We made our way to the town square and the open-air market. Once there, we wound our way through the maze of stalls, stands, and some stations where the vendors simply spread a blanket or newspaper on the ground on which to display their wares. The goods were plentiful, fruits, vegetables, meats - which I elected to pass on due to the questionable refrigeration - grains, and all variety of household goods. It was a veritable tropical Walmart. 

We stocked up on everything we could imagine we might need. And I couldn't help grousing while Blair chose strange looking fruits and vegetables that I had never seen before - including the infamous ackie, which grew in a hard red shell, and had a large black seed in the center of its yellow flesh - and spent long minutes chatting with the vendors as to methods of preparation. By the time we'd finished, we had both had filled up our backpacks, and had also managed to fill a box with staples like flour, cooking oil, cans of evaporated milk, sugar, coffee, and most importantly, two six packs of dark, yeasty Caribbean ale. 

And as we made our way back to the bus stop, we passed a beach shop with a classic Dewey Weber Performer surfboard proudly displayed in the window. My jaw literally dropped open and I stopped in my tracks when I spotted the board. Almost as if under a spell, I wandered inside and reverently ran my hands across the cool fiberglass and the grainy wood that had been expertly restored. As I extolled the virtues of the classic 10-foot-long board to my partner, there was absolutely no doubt that I would purchase it. The price, which was steep by anyone's standards, was irrelevant. I simply had to have it. A short while later, we emerged with me carrying the board along with a bag full of various and sundry supplies, and Blair having taken charge of the box of groceries. 

Laden with our purchases, we managed to finish just in time to catch the first bus back to our temporary home. By two o'clock, we were storing our goods in the pantry and discussing what to do now that we had the rest of the afternoon to ourselves. 

"So, you gonna break in your new board?" Blair asked. 

I glanced out the window. "Waves are a little flat for surfing today, but the board needs waxing anyway. I might just spend the afternoon giving it some TLC." 

"Sounds like a plan. Personally, I think some serious sun worshiping is in order. I plan to put on my trunks, grab a blanket, some suntan lotion, and a good book and catch some rays." 

So, on our first full day of island life, we found ourselves on our sunwashed beach, engaged in solitary pursuits, but also very much together. And it was incredibly relaxing and a very welcome change from the cold, dreary, hustle and bustle of a Cascade fall. 

That evening, when the sun began to wane, we made our way down the beach for a visit with our only neighbor. Allison was sitting on the terrace of her little house, which was basically a carbon copy of our own, as we approached. When he noted our arrival, Bodie tore off the terrace to give me, in particular, a boisterous welcome. 

"My goodness, he really likes you. I've never seen him take to anyone so quickly." Allison said as she came down to greet us. 

"Oh, it's probably just those steaks I carry around in my pocket" I quipped. 

Allison giggled. "Come on up and have a seat, gentlemen." she said, leading us up onto her terrace. "Can I get you something cold to drink?" 

"That'd be nice." I said when we'd both seated ourselves in one of the several folding canvas chairs. 

"Okay, I'll be right back." 

Allison disappeared inside the house and Bodie, who had been clamoring for attention at my feet, planted himself between my legs and laid his head on the my thigh in a pathetic bid for attention. 

"Man, what _is_ with you and this dog?" Blair asked in bewilderment. 

"What are you talking about? He's got taste. He knows good character when he spots it. Don't you, boy? Huh? Don't you?" I said as I rubbed the dog's head. 

Blair looked on skeptically as I continued to stroke the animal and amazingly, even to myself, to talk affectionately to it. 

"What?" I asked when I looked up to see Blair watching me. 

He laughed and shook his head. "You are _so_ gone." 

I chuckled. "Guilty as charged." 

Allison returned a few minutes later with three large glasses of ice-cold limeaid. 

"This is great, Allison. Thank you." I said as I took a glass. 

"Thanks, its one of my staples. There are so many lime trees around that I feel obligated to find some use for all of them. 

"So, Allison, you don't have an accent. Did you go to school abroad?" Blair asked. 

Allison sat back and put her feet up on the railing in front of her. "No, I'm not from here, actually. I'm from the States." 

"Oh, really? I'm sorry, I just assumed - " 

"That's all right. It's an honest mistake." she said with a smile. 

"So, are you here on vacation?" I asked. 

"No, I live here now." 

"Really? What brought you here? A job?" I asked as I juggled my beverage with my apparent designated task of providing constant attention to Bodie. 

"No, I'm a drop out." 

"What do you mean?" Blair asked. 

"Just that. I got fed up and decided I didn't want to be part of the rat race any longer and I dropped out." 

"Really? Because we've kind of done the same thing, only we decided to just take a sabbatical." Blair explained. 

"Well, you couldn't have picked a better place for it. We're about as far removed from the chaos of 'civilization' as you can get. It's the best move I ever made." Allison answered. 

"So, what did you do in your previous life?" I asked. 

"I was a vice president at an advertising agency in Manhattan." 

"Wow, that's pretty impressive at such a young age." Blair said. 

"It was everything I had ever worked for in my entire life. But one day I just realized that I was tired of it all, you know? I was tired of always needing more and more and never having it be enough. I was tired of paying $3,000 a month for a 700 square foot, one bedroom apartment. I was tired of having to cram into a subway car full of rude people, or take kamikaze cab rides in order to get anyplace. I was tired of working 80-hour weeks in a world full of rat-like cubicle mazes, and surviving on processed takeout food that tasted like cardboard. I was just tired of all of it. 

"Sure, I had a nice bank balance and every material possession a person could ever want, but I wasn't happy. One day I just decided that I was going to do whatever it took to add some meaning to my life. So I sold everything I owned and ended up down here. And when I arrived, I found a sad stray puppy on the beach who didn't seem to have anywhere to go and since we were both orphans, we adopted each other, and here we are." 

"And what do you do now that you're here?" Blair asked. 

"Whatever I want." 

Blair drained his limeaid and placed the empty glass on a side table. "You don't work?" 

"No, the cost of living is such that I don't really need to." 

"But you're a young woman, you don't worry about the money running out?" I asked. 

"I'm pretty sure it'll last as long as I need it to." she said with a smile. 

"Wow, that's fabulous, Allison. It takes a lot of guts to do something like that." Blair said in admiration. 

"But you two did the same thing." she said. 

"Sure, but not with the same level of conviction that you did." I said. 

"Oh, I'm sure that if that was what you truly wanted to do, you would have done so." 

"So, you live here by yourself? Isn't it lonely?" Blair asked. 

"Amazingly, not at all. I mean, I've got Bodie, and I chat with people in town when I run my errands. If you haven't already met her, Miss Edith at the Town Square Caf is always good for a gab, not to mention a delicious meal." 

"Yeah, we met Miss Edith this morning." Blair grinned. 

"You know, it's funny, when I was in New York, I was surrounded by people all the time, and the loneliness was almost overwhelming. Here, I'm alone 90% of the time, but I couldn't be happier or more content. Go figure." 

"I can understand that." I said knowingly. 

"Can I get you another glass?" Allison asked, motioning toward our empty glasses. 

"Yeah, that sounds great." Blair handed her his glass. 

Allison took our glasses and vanished to refill them. We ended up spending a very pleasant evening chatting with our delightful new neighbor. By the time we made it back to our humble abode, we had learned the best days to shop at the market, which stalls and vendors to avoid, which restaurants served the absolute finest local delicacies, which bar served a seemingly innocuous, but absolutely lethal banana daiquiri, and how to properly cook a breadfruit in an open pit fire. 

And over the next couple of weeks, we fell into a comfortable routine, generally rising with the first sunlight to engage in any number of pleasurable activities. Three times per week, we made the trek into town to have breakfast at Miss Edith's caf and purchase our provisions. With the rest of our ample spare time, we basked in the delicious tropical sun like lizards on a rock in the desert and paid regular visits to Allison and Bodie. Or we fished. Or we hiked through the endlessly fascinating rainforest that covered the island's rolling hills. On a subsequent trip into town we returned to the beach shop and Blair purchased two snorkel sets and we frequently explored our lovely little cove's coral reef. And I even tried to teach Blair how to surf. There seemed to be no end to the little island's diversions, until it began to rain, that is. 

"So, you think it's ever gonna stop?" Blair asked from his deck chair on the terrace. 

I looked up at the sky from beneath the protective cover of the overhang. "Nope. Not anytime soon." 

"Man, this is the fifth straight day! It's like being back in Cascade. Geez, it _sucks_." Blair said, leaning his chair back to balance against the wall. 

"Yeah, you said it, Chief." I said, retreating inside the house. 

I crossed to the kitchen and grabbed another ale from our little refrigerator; it was my third of the day. Blair returned inside a few minutes later. 

"Well, I suppose I'll take the opportunity to write some letters. Naomi will be upset if she doesn't get her weekly report. Although I think I've written a letter to every person I know this week, and even to some people that I only know in passing." 

"Yeah, that's a good idea, Chief." I said as I walked back to the front door and stared outside. And as Blair settled himself at the dining table with his writing kit, I couldn't stop myself from pacing restlessly from the front terrace, to the bedroom, and back again. I grabbed a book and seated myself on the sofa and tried valiantly to read a couple of pages, but I couldn't focus and I ended up tossing the book down on the table to retrieve my walkman. I tried to listen to music for a while, then returned to the book. 

After a while, Blair put down his pen and pulled off his glasses. "Jeez, Jim, you're making me dizzy. It's not like you to be so fidgety. What's up with you?" 

"Nothing's up with me. What are you talking about?" I growled, but he was right, I was fidgety. I felt like I wanted to crawl out of my skin. 

"You're pacing like a caged animal, man. Why don't you chill out?" 

"I'm fine, Sandburg. You just worry about yourself." 

"You're bored, aren't you?" 

"We have been cooped up in here for five days. So yeah, maybe I'm going a little stir crazy here. Is that all right with you?" I asked, my irritation with the interrogation harshening my tone more than I intended. 

"Well, if it results in giving me an aneurysm from watching you fidget endlessly, no, it's not, actually." Blair said, rising from his seat. "I've got something you can do." 

He crossed the room to the armoire that housed his belongings and dug through his duffle bag, emerging with four small leather-bound volumes. He set them on the coffee table in front of me. 

"What are those?" 

"Why don't you take a look and see." Blair said evasively. 

I picked up one of the books, paging through the yellowed leaves, examining the precise but elegant cursive script. My stomach lurched as I realized what they were. "Is this my mother's journal?" 

Blair didn't answer and I looked up at him. But I didn't really need an answer. "Why did you bring these?" I asked tightly. 

Blair eased down onto the sofa next to me. "You know, Jim, it's all well and good to pretend that we're on an extended Club Med vacation, but I think there was a greater purpose to our taking this break. And one of those purposes was for you to reach some sort of closure with respect to what happened to your mother and how that's affected you. These journals are your only connection to her and you've never so much as cracked them open, not even once." 

"You had no right to bring these without my permission." 

"So sue me. I brought them because I think it's a good idea for you to at least take a look at them, Jim. Your mother was important to you. It's been almost three months since she passed and I'd venture a bet that you haven't dealt with your feelings about what happened to her at all. You should take some time to get acquainted with her life. It might be painful, but I'm betting that you're also going to find out some really great stuff about her, man. You're going to learn who she was not just as Grace Ellison, mother to Jim and Stephen, but also as Grace Ellison the woman, the partner, and the sentinel. And I'm not sure, but I think you'll probably also find some reasons to be thankful, as well." 

"Did you read these?" I asked churlishly. 

"No, of course not." Blair answered calmly. 

"Well, you had no right to bring them." I repeated and I rose angrily to my feet. 

"Okay, fine. We've already established that. But as long as I did, you should take advantage of it." 

Ignoring my partner, I stomped out of the room and onto the terrace. I sighed in frustration and leaned against the column of the terrace. I could hear Blair speaking to me quietly from inside the house. "All right, Jim." he said with resignation. "I'm just gonna leave these here on the table. They're here whenever you want them. I didn't bring all of them, but I think it's probably a good cross section of her life." 

And with that, Blair returned to his letter writing at the dining table. I listened to the sound of his pen scraping across the paper for a good 30 minutes before I gave in and sulked back into the room, planted myself on the sofa, and grudgingly opened the first book. 

II 

Confianza, Santo Matteo. November, 1973. 

The two young women disembarked from the rickety ferry in the hot, midday sun, swiping at the persistent flies that buzzed annoyingly in their faces. They scrambled up onto the rocky shore and stood patiently, watching while several ferry hands unloaded their belongings. 

Ingrid looked over at her companion, who was squinting in the bright sunlight and unconsciously rubbing the little gold locket she always wore around her neck. Ingrid couldn't help thinking how beautiful she looked, even with her hair pulled into a haphazard ponytail and without a stitch of makeup. She also couldn't help remembering how she'd had to spend every night since they'd escaped the sanitarium comforting her partner as she mourned the loss of her children. Ingrid reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Grace's ear. Grace turned and smiled sadly at her. 

"All right?" Ingrid asked as she lovingly caressed Grace's cheek. 

"Yeah. I'm okay." 

"Good. Why don't you stay here and watch them unload our things. I'll go see if I can't find someone to help us get them to the mission camp." 

Ingrid walked away and returned about a half an hour later with several men leading a donkey pulling a wagon. 

"You found someone, I see." 

"Yeah. I think I managed to communicate where we wanted to go." 

"Do any of them speak English?" 

"No. Most of the people I came across only seemed to speak Maracan," Ingrid said, referring to the language of the local Maracaibo Indians. "but these two spoke Spanish. I guess I'll have to send Senora Crabtree a thank you note for giving me such a hard time. Who would have ever thought that sophomore Spanish class would come in so handy?" 

"Did you have to pay them?" Grace asked. 

"Yeah, I gave them each a few bills, but don't ask me how much it was. For all I know, I gave them the equivalent of a year's wages. But at least they seem eager to help and hopefully they won't take us into the bush and rob us blind." 

The women watched as the two men loaded the wagon with the three trunks full of everything they owned in the world. The first contained some of the basic necessities of everyday life that the two women thought they might need, but which might be hard to find once they arrived, such as cookware, dishes, candles, soaps, and the like. The second contained camping gear they had purchased at a sporting goods store before they left. They knew that they would want to buy some land when they arrived and since they had done enough research to know that the chances were better than average that whatever they bought would not have any buildings on it, they figured they'd better be prepared. The third and final trunk contained the few belongings they had managed to retrieve from their previous lives, along with a new wardrobe for both that was more suitable to the tropical climate. 

Once loaded, the men signaled for them to climb onto the wagon as well, and they were off to the mission camp that would be their home for the immediate future. The camp wasn't their first choice - they knew that if the truth was known about their relationship, that they probably wouldn't be welcome - but they had no real options. There were no hotels on the island, and it was very sparsely populated. They'd despaired of finding lodging until they'd learned of the camp from an American expatriate they'd met in a caf on the mainland. The young man, who taught English at the University, had traveled extensively throughout the region and had learned from personal experience that these American missionaries were more than happy to put up visitors in the area for a nominal fee. 

The ride across rough, dirt roads and into the rainforest was long and bone rattling and after about an hour, they finally arrived at a little settlement in a clearing. It wasn't really what she expected, Ingrid thought as she jumped down off the wagon. But then it wasn't as if she had any prior experience with mission camps in third world countries, so she wasn't sure she had any real impression of what it should have been like anyway. There appeared to be three buildings. The first was large and seemed to be a public building of some sort, with a number of people coming and going. The other two looked like houses, with one significantly larger than the other. 

As the two men lifted their trunks off the wagon, a middle-aged woman approached them with a wide smile. She was a healthy woman, with a figure that had likely been boyish once, but that had filled out with time. Probably in her early 40s, she had short, curly blond hair and big grey eyes that crinkled at the corners. She wore a pink cotton blouse and practical khaki slacks. 

"You must be Grace and Ingrid. We got the message from the mainland that you'd be arriving today. I'm Vivian Lawrence." she said with a lilting southern accent as she extended her hand. 

"Hi, Mrs. Lawrence, I'm Ingrid Collins and this is my sister, Grace." Ingrid said. 

"Well, welcome Ingrid and Grace. Welcome. And please, it's Viv. You must be tired after your journey. Let's get you settled in." she said. 

Vivian gave some orders to the two men in Maracan, and led Grace and Ingrid to the smaller of the two houses. 

"Well, this is our guest quarters." she said, leading the two women into a one room cabin. "It's pretty modest, really, just this one room, but we've tried to make it comfortable for you." 

"It looks perfect, really. Thank you." Grace said. 

The two men entered with one of the three trunks and Vivian directed them to set it in the corner nearest the door. 

"I'm afraid we don't have too many modern conveniences here for you." Viv said, turning back to them. 

"We're really not expecting any conveniences, Viv. This looks great." Ingrid said. 

"Well, good. I love to see young women with adventurous spirits. God blesses those who appreciate all of his creation." she said with a smile. "The latrine is out behind the main house, with the shower just a ways away, and we've got oil lamps here for you when it gets dark. The men should be finished bringing in your things in just a minute, then you girls should get cleaned up and get a little rest. Eugene, that's my husband, usually finishes up at the chapel and clinic by 5:30, so dinner will be served in the main house at 6:00." 

"Thank you so much, Viv. We really appreciate you putting us up like this." Ingrid said. "We'll try not to overstay our welcome." 

"Don't be silly. You stay as long as you need to. We always have room for another of God's children. You girls make yourselves at home. We'll see you at dinner." Viv said and she left. 

Grace sat on one of the two twin beds in the room, while Ingrid walked to the basin and pitcher on the side table and poured out some water. She wet down one of the washcloths that lay beside the basin and wrung it out, then ran the cloth across her forehead and the back of her neck. 

"Whew, that feels good. It sure is hot and dusty here." Ingrid said. 

Grace didn't respond. Ingrid looked up to see her silently contemplating the floorboards. 

"Are you sure you're all right?" Ingrid asked. 

"Is this the way it's always going to be?" Grace asked softly, without looking up. 

"Is what - " Ingrid stopped when the men returned, delivering the last of their trunks. She thanked them and shut the door as they left, then moved to sit on the bed next to her partner. 

"Is this the way what's always going to be?" 

"Are we going to spend the rest of our lives like this? Living a lie? Using false names? Pretending to be sisters?" Grace asked, tension turning her usually melodic voice, clipped and hard. 

"You know we had to do this, Grace. We _talked_ about this. We're at a missionary camp, for god's sake. What do you want me to say? 'Hi, Viv, allow me to introduce my lesbian lover?'" 

Grace's face wrinkled with frustration as she stood and paced the tiny room, her arms crossed tightly in front of her. 

Ingrid let her pace, let her burn off the pent up frustration until she sat wearily on the other bed. 

"Better now?" 

"No," Grace sulked. "I don't think I'll ever be better again." 

"You're just hot and tired. Here," Ingrid said and she crossed to the basin and re-wet the washcloth. "I know what will make you feel better." Returning to the bed, she sat down and dried Grace's tears then started to wipe the dust and grime from her face. 

"Don't treat me like a child." Grace said testily, snatching the rag from Ingrid's hand. 

"All right, fine." Ingrid said patiently, rising and crossing to the other bed. 

"And don't patronize me, either." Grace hissed angrily. "You don't know what this is like for me! You can't possibly have any idea! You didn't have to leave your children behind! You didn't have to leave everything - " 

" _I_ didn't have to leave everything behind?" Ingrid interrupted, her own anger rising to the surface now. "I didn't? You think you're the only one who made a sacrifice? I left everything, too, Grace. I've got a family, too, you know? And when they find our car, my parents are going to get a visit from the State Police telling them I drowned, too. I'm going to be as dead to them as you are to your family. They're going to mourn my loss and there's not a thing I can do prevent them suffering that pain. And I did that for you! I did that to protect you! So don't you stand there and tell me that you're the only one who's lost something, here. Don't you dare!" Ingrid ground out, her dark brown eyes full of fire. 

Grace hitched a wet breath and a sob escaped her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." she breathed almost inaudibly. 

Ingrid raked her hand through her hair then pounded her fist into the thin, lumpy mattress, a curse spilling from her lips. The she crossed back to Grace's bed and pulled her lover into an embrace. 

Grace held onto her, clinging desperately. "I'm so awful. How can you stand me?" 

"I love you." Ingrid said softly. "I'd do anything for you." 

"I just hate living a lie. I don't want the rest of my life to be about keeping secrets and looking over my shoulder. That's not what I want." she said passionately, her icy blue eyes darkening with emotion. 

"I'm sorry, Gracie. I really am. If I could figure out any other way - " 

"No, I'm sorry." Grace said quickly. "I don't mean to snap at you. It's just.... " 

Ingrid moved back to look Grace in the eye when she didn't continue. "It's just what?" she asked, smoothing back her hair. 

Grace looked down at the floor and a long minute passed before she looked back up at Ingrid, her eyes glassy with her tears. "I just miss them so much, Ingrid. I miss them so much. I feel like my heart is breaking." she sniffed. 

"I know you do, Sweetheart. I know you do. I wish I knew some way to make it better. I'd give anything to make it better for you." Ingrid whispered as she pulled Grace close once again and rubbed her back gently. 

"Do you think they're okay?" Grace asked brokenly without lifting her head from Ingrid's shoulder. 

"I'm sure they're fine. William was a lot of things, to be sure, with an inattentive husband topping the list, but he loves those boys. That much we know. He'll take care of them. He would never let anyone or anything hurt them." 

"I hope you're right. I'd never forgive myself if...." she stopped again, choking back her pain. 

"I know I'm right, Grace. You do, too." 

"I don't deserve you." 

"We'll get through this, Grace. I promise you." 

There was a knock at the door then, and Ingrid wiped quickly at her face, then stood and straightened her clothes. She crossed to the door and opened it narrowly. A big, burly man with short dark hair and a moustache and beard stood there looking rather uncomfortable once he noted her red eyes and nose. 

"Ahm, hey there, I'm Eugene Lawrence, Viv's husband." The lilting southern accent matched his wife's. I just wanted to stop by and welcome you both, but ... have I come at a bad time?" 

"Hi, Eugene, ahm, yeah, we're just.... ahm, we're having a bit of homesickness, I guess." 

"Well, are you gals, all right? Is there anything I can do?" 

"That's sweet of you, really, but I think we'll be okay." 

"Oh, all right then.... Ahm... okay. Well, dinner's in about an hour. I guess I'll see you then." he said. 

"Thank you. We'll see you then." Ingrid said and she shut the door. She turned back to Grace. "It's been a long day. We're both tired. Why don't you lie down, try to get a little rest before dinner. Okay?" 

"Yeah. Okay." she said and she curled up on the little bed facing the wall. 

Both women rested for about a half an hour. Then Grace decided to take a shower and clean up. After showering and changing into clean clothes, she felt much better and ready to face the others. 

The women made their way across the yard to the main house and knocked on the screen door. Viv stuck her head out from the next room. 

"Hey, ladies, come right on in." she shouted. 

Grace and Ingrid walked inside the house. Though also basic, it was certainly more comfortable than their own, with a good-sized living room and an even larger dining room, with a huge table laden with plates and platters full of food. There were roast chickens, mashed potatoes, vegetables, and salad. It looked delicious and the smells were already making the women's mouth water. 

"We don't stand on ceremony around here." Viv said, and she motioned to two empty chairs. "Please, have a seat." 

"Thank you, Viv." Ingrid said as she and Grace both sat down. 

"Let me introduce you to everyone." Viv said and she turned first to the man who had visited the women earlier. "I think you already met my husband, Eugene, and these are our daughters Barbara, Janet and Jennifer." 

Grace looked around the table and struggled to force a smile. The oldest daughter couldn't have been more than 10, about the same age as her Jamie. The twins were slightly younger, perhaps 7. She felt a tug on her heartstrings as she looked at them; it was just a painful reminder of all she had left behind. But she was grateful when she felt Ingrid's hand on her knee beneath the table, providing silent comfort. 

"Well, we've got plenty to eat. You must be hungry after your long trip. Nothing too exotic tonight, tried to stick to meat and potatoes and vegetables. It's hard enough to be in a strange land for the first time without adding to the shock by adding strange foods to the mix, too. I know on my first day in the country, I almost cried from relief when our hosts set hamburgers and french fries in front of us." Viv said, trying to put the women at ease, obviously aware that Eugene had seen them crying earlier. 

"That's very considerate of you." Grace said softly. 

"You are more than welcome. So let's say the blessing and dig in." Viv said. 

They all bowed their heads and Eugene said a quick prayer, thanking God for their food, for allowing them to do their mission, and for the presence of their guests. Then they all dug in, and Grace and Ingrid had to admit that they were hungry. The food was simple but delicious and it felt good to be among fellow Americans. At least one thing was familiar on this journey that was turning everything they had ever known on its head. 

"So, what brings you two young ladies to a place like Santo Matteo? It's awful unusual for two pretty young things like yourselves to be down here on your own." Eugene said. 

"Our grandparents lived for a while in Argentina," Ingrid began, knowing that Grace hated to be the one to tell the story they'd agreed upon. "and they also traveled extensively throughout the continent America. When we were young, they often told us stories of how beautiful it was here and how much they'd loved it. So when our parents passed recently and left us a small inheritance, we decided that we wanted to live in the land that our grandparents spoke so fondly of." 

"But why would you pick someplace as remote as Santo Matteo? It doesn't seem like there could be much here to attract two vibrant young ladies like yourselves. I'd think you'd be more interested in one of the big cities, like Rio, or Lima, or Caracas. There's certainly not much potential for landing a husband around here." Eugene questioned. 

"Well, I guess we wanted to feel like we were having an experience closer to what our grandparents described. You know, see the heart of the continent up close and personal. Besides, there's plenty of time for marriage later." 

"That's awfully brave of you. I can't say I would have had the courage to do something like that when I was your age." Viv chimed in. "What about you, Grace? Are you excited to be here? You seem a little sad." 

Grace looked up from her meal, her blue eyes a bit startled; she'd been eating quietly, hoping to avoid the entire conversation. 

"I am excited. I guess I'm just a bit homesick today." she said. 

"Well that's understandable. It can be an awfully strange and overwhelming place at first. I'm surprised you two would come alone. Aren't you worried, though, two young women alone? South America can be a tough place for a young single woman without someone to look after her." Eugene said. 

"Well, we don't have any other family, you see. It's just the two of us now, so we decided to strike out on our own." 

"Ahm, Ingrid?" 

Ingrid turned toward the source of the young voice, grateful for the reprieve from scrutiny. She smiled at Jennifer, who was distinguishable from her identical twin Janet only by virtue of a missing canine tooth. 

"Yes, sweetie?" Ingrid asked. 

"Ahm, do you like to play games?" 

"I certainly do. Do you have a lot of games you like to play?" Ingrid asked encouragingly. 

"Jennifer and I have jacks, and a jump rope, and Chutes and Ladders." Janet chimed in. 

"Ooh, you know, Chutes and Ladders was my favorite game when I was your age." 

"Would you play with us after dinner?" Jennifer asked excitedly. 

"Now, girls, Ingrid and Grace have had a long day. Don't bother them." Viv said. 

"Oh, it's no bother at all. I'd love to play with them, really." Ingrid said. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes, it's fine." 

"Grace, will you play with us, too?" Janet asked hopefully. 

Grace, who had put down her fork some time before, choked down a swallow of water and struggled to keep her voice steady. 

"Thank you, Janet, but I'm a little tired today. Maybe we can play tomorrow, okay?" she managed. 

"Okay." the little girl answered, the disappointment evident in her voice. 

Grace folded her napkin and set it on the table. "I'm terribly sorry, but if you don't mind, I'm going to excuse myself." 

"But you hardly touched your dinner. I hope everything was okay." Viv said. 

"Oh, it's delicious, really. I'm just terribly tired. As you said, it's been a very long day for us. I think I'm going to go to bed." 

"Well we certainly hope you feel better, little lady." Eugene said. 

"I'm sure I'll be fine in the morning. Thank you for being so understanding." Grace said and she stood. As she turned to go, she caught Ingrid's eye and could see her partner silently inquiring whether she should come along, but she turned and left without acknowledging it. 

Ingrid turned back to the others at the table, stung that Grace wouldn't want her to come along, but she understood that it was just too painful for her to be around the children, especially today. And they'd been together almost incessantly during the entire two weeks it had taken them to escape the sanitarium and make their way to Santo Matteo, so perhaps a bit of distance was for the best. 

Ingrid finished dining with the family, then spent several hours playing with the Lawrences' lovely and well-behaved daughters. Darkness had fallen by the time she said goodnight to the family and made her way back to the little cabin. When she entered, a lone oil lamp was lit with the flame turned down low. Grace was already in bed and had turned toward the wall, facing away from the door. 

Ingrid shut and locked the door, trying hard to be quiet so as not to wake her partner. But as she dug through their trunk to find her nightclothes, she heard the muffled, shivery sound that was instantly recognizable as Grace trying hard to keep her tears to herself. Ingrid changed quickly into her nightgown, then moved to Grace's bed. She blew out the oil lamp, then slid into the tiny bed behind her partner and enfolded her in as comforting an embrace as she knew how to give. She didn't say anything. There was nothing to say, really. All she could do was continue to console her partner for as long as it took for the pain to recede to a bearable level. As Ingrid held her lover, though, she couldn't miss the subtle, but unmistakable withdrawal as Grace retreated more inside herself, rather than accepting what was offered. 

oOo 

The women were up early the next morning. They'd visited a real estate agent on the mainland before arriving in Santo Matteo and had obtained a map detailing several plots of land for sale. Their goal for the day was to visit each and determine which best suited their needs. 

Viv had offered to drive them to each of the parcels of land in the couple's weather-beaten Landrover, one of the very few automobiles on the island. Neither of the first two parcels were right; the first being located in the hills quite some distance from Confianza, which could only loosely be called the island's main village because it contained a small cluster of buildings and the ferry port. Not only was it too remote, it was accessible only via a steep and sometimes precarious path that was difficult to navigate, even in the 4-wheel drive vehicle. The second, though somewhat closer, was rather small and too rocky to be developed easily. 

The third parcel was just right. Located between the mission camp and the village, it was a long, but manageable, walk to the village. The plot covered two acres and was rather heavily wooded. The trees would need to be cleared, but could probably be used to build a cabin or at the very least as a readily accessible source of firewood. Best of all, the rear of the property sloped gently down to a small river. Well, more like a good-sized creek, really, but the water was clean and could actually be consumed if it were boiled first and it would be a valuable and easily accessible source of water for the women until they managed to get some plumbing, which would likely be a while. 

The land itself was ridiculously inexpensive, but how they would go about getting lodging built was another matter they would have to address. It would probably be quite costly since workers and materials would have to come over from the mainland. But they were sure they would have enough of the money from William left over after purchasing the land to be able to afford to have something modest built. It would be a sacrifice to take such a large chunk of money out of the remaining funds, especially since there was little hope of earning any more from the remote island, but that was something they would deal with when they got to it. The transition to this life was so overwhelming that it was all they could do to deal with one thing at a time. 

Having agreed upon a parcel, the two made plans to travel back to the mainland to complete the transaction. It would be two weeks before the ferry returned, so, in the meantime, they made the best of their temporary home. 

In the days that followed, they settled into a comfortable level of discomfort, if you will, with Grace managing, although not without a struggle, to keep her emotions more or less in check. She even managed to play with the Lawrences' twins one afternoon without being overwhelmed by feelings of guilt or sadness. The little girls were adorable, and seemed to genuinely like them both, but Grace could only manage to see them in short bursts before the memories became too much to bear. Ingrid felt that although the pain would likely never go away completely, with time it would become easier for Grace to deal with leaving her children behind, especially since she knew they'd really had no other alternative. What was more distressing for Ingrid, though, was the fact that the tension between the two women was still palpable and that Grace continued to maintain an emotional distance. 

They discovered that there wasn't much to explore in their newly adopted homeland. They accompanied Viv into the village one day to the little makeshift market. It was more like a swap meet, really, with the locals each bringing items to trade or barter. There were women with colorful hand-woven blankets and fabrics, a couple of men with small collections of fruits and vegetables they had clearly grown themselves, and other haphazardly constructed stalls offering just caught fish, flatbreads cooked over an open fire, as well as hand-crafted pottery, wooden tools, and implements. Viv was one of the few people there who had money to offer for her goods, and the Indians seemed extremely anxious to do business with her. The women understood that pesos were pretty hard to come by in the remote location. 

The women also explored the little area around the mission camp, going on short walks from their home base. They never ventured far, having been cautioned by Eugene and Viv that two women alone weren't necessarily safe from the local men. The women found this caution, odd, though. Granted, their interactions with the Indians had been limited since their arrival, but everyone they'd encountered, men included, had been nothing but polite and respectful toward them. Still, Eugene and Viv had been there much longer than they had, so they heeded the caution and kept their explorations brief. 

It was their sixth day on the island, when the women decided to pay a visit to the mission's little chapel. It was a small portion of a larger building that also housed a school and a clinic. It always seemed to be bustling with activity, but on this particular day, the chapel was empty. The two women sat in the back and quietly regarded the altar and cross in the front of the room. As she contemplated her surroundings, Ingrid saw her partner cross herself and bow her head in a silent prayer. And she had no doubt that the young woman was praying for the health and safety of her children. 

It wasn't long, however, before their silent contemplation was interrupted by a wail of dismay. They swung around to see a young man running into the chapel, clutching something to his chest, with Eugene hot on his heals. The young man tripped and fell at the front of the chapel, and Eugene picked him up by his collar and shook him violently. 

"Give it back to me, you little heathen!" 

Ingrid was up and out of her seat before even consciously deciding to move. She rushed right up to the melee and planted herself between Eugene and the boy, protecting the youngster from the burly giant. 

"What is going on here?" Ingrid demanded, as the boy clung to her. 

"You stay out of this, little lady!" Eugene commanded as he reached around her for the boy. 

The boy quickly evaded the tactic and ran to hide behind the altar. Eugene dashed for the altar, but Ingrid was quicker and placed herself between the two once again. 

"Not until you tell me what's going on. This poor boy is frightened to death!" Ingrid insisted. 

"He broke into my office and stole from me!" 

"No, this is my grandmother's! You took it from her!" the boy shot back, in surprisingly good English. 

"Little liar!" Eugene hissed. 

Ingrid turned to see what the boy was holding, it appeared to be a necklace of some sort, with a crude carving of an owl hanging from a chain of ceramic beads. 

"Tell me what happened." Ingrid said soothingly to the boy. 

"My grandmother came to the clinic last week for medical care. They told her that she had to accept Jesus before she could get help, and they took this from her. It's the symbol of the owl. My family has worshipped the owl for all time. This necklace has been handed down for many generations. It's priceless to us. My grandmother has been distraught ever since it was taken from her." the boy said, the words spilling out quickly. 

Ingrid turned to Eugene in inquiry. 

"We don't allow heathen idols inside this building. It's a house of God." Eugene said defensively. 

"So the necklace _is_ his grandmother's?" 

"It's a heathen image and it's not welcome in a house of the lord." Eugene insisted, coloring at having been caught in his earlier half-truth. 

"They take away all of our religious symbols. They tell us they won't help us if we don't renounce our gods. My grandmother didn't understand what would happen. She only came here for medical care." 

Ingrid turned back to Eugene. "You rob them of their beliefs?" she asked incredulously. 

"We are a mission camp, Miss Collins, our mission is to bring these savages to the one true god. And as such, we do not allow graven idols to be worshipped in our midst." 

"Well, I wasn't aware that these people needed _your_ permission in their own land to follow a culture and belief system that predates yours by a long shot. There's a savage in our midst, all right, but it's not this boy." Ingrid said hotly, then she turned and nodded to the boy and he ran out of the building, clutching the hard won prize. 

"How dare you!" Eugene fumed. "After we've extended our hospitality to you, you undermine our work here." 

" My sister and I are profoundly grateful for yours and Viv's hospitality, really we are. But this is their land, Eugene. If they want to convert, that's one thing, but you're blackmailing them out of centuries-old beliefs and customs. How can that be right?" 

"It's right because the bible tells me it's right." 

"Really? I guess we read different bibles, then." 

"We were under the impression when we agreed to take you girls in, that you were Christians." Eugene said, suspiciously. 

"Oh, we believe in God, all right. We're just open-minded enough to realize that it's a big world, and that we don't necessarily have all the answers." 

"Don't you ever contradict me in front of others again, or you'll be out of here." Eugene said lowly, dangerously, and he stormed out of the building. 

Grace, who had been watching in shock, the entire time, rushed over to where Ingrid stood. 

"Ingrid, maybe you shouldn't have done that. We need these people, we don't want to upset them." 

"I can't sit by and watch them rob these people of their beliefs. That's not right, Grace." 

"But what if...." 

"It's not right." Ingrid said again more firmly. "And I won't be a part of it, even if only inadvertently. "Don't worry." she added at the look of worry on her partner's face. "We'll be okay. We've made it this far with no one to rely on but ourselves. If we have to, we can do it again. Come on, let's go back to our room." 

The women made their way back to their little cabin, and things were undoubtedly tense over the next few days. The furor seemed to blow over, however, after Grace apologized profusely to Viv and swore that Ingrid was not trying to undermine the mission's good work, and that they would not interfere again. As she apologized, however, Grace could not miss her partner's subvocal murmur that she damn well would interfere if these people didn't get down off their moral high horse and leave the poor Indians alone. And even though Eugene seemed to continue to regard Ingrid with suspicion, things were better after that. 

Finally, the day came for the women to make the trip back to the mainland to purchase their little plot of land. There was only one ferry to the mainland; it ran once every two weeks, leaving early in the morning and returning late the same afternoon. The Indians used it whenever they made their infrequent trips to purchase supplies. When the day came, the women made the 2-hour ride to the mainland, spent several hours conducting their business, then caught the boat back to the small island. 

There weren't many other passengers that afternoon, just a handful of Indians, most laden with large bags and boxes. As the women understood it, for most of the natives, the trip to the mainland was a rare event, occurring perhaps only three or four times per year. So when they made their purchases, they bought back as much as they could afford and could manage to transport. 

From their seat on a warped wooden bench near the railing, they contented themselves with watching the shore grow smaller as they pulled away and the receding waves from the ferry's wake. It was a quiet ride. During their two weeks on the island, they had discovered that the natives were generally a serene people, rarely given to loud conversation or overt displays of emotion, particularly around strangers. So the women stayed to themselves, exchanging very little conversation of their own. 

As they continued on their journey, Ingrid suddenly realized that Grace was unusually still. She put her hand on Grace's arm, to get her attention and when she got no reaction, she moved closer, to look her partner in the eye. When she saw the vacant stare, she knew immediately what had happened. She hadn't seen this very often since the incident in the hospital when Stephen was born, but every time she did, she found it ever more chilling. Grace had simply shut down, turned non-responsive while staring off into the distance, at what, Ingrid didn't even know, since any land that might have been visible to her eyes was obscured by the glare of the sun's rays off the water as it dipped below the horizon. 

With a nervous glance around her to see if anyone was watching, Ingrid moved as close to Grace as she could and took her hand. 

"Grace. Sweetheart. Come on, Grace. Snap out of it, okay?" she whispered. 

But it was to no avail. Grace sat stock still, like a store mannequin, maintaining her vigil. Ingrid turned and straddled the bench, moving even closer, allowing her knee to press up against Grace's thigh. As she continued to talk, she rubbed her hand gently across Grace's hand, her arm, and her leg. As the journey continued, with no success in bringing her partner to consciousness, Ingrid felt herself growing panicked, particularly when she realized that the other passengers had taken notice and were watching them. She kept up the quiet chatter and the caresses until she saw their island come into view and realized they would soon reach their destination. She had no idea how she'd get Grace off the boat if she couldn't bring her out of the trance before they docked. 

As the ferry drew closer to the shore, Ingrid's distress increased, and as a last ditch effort, she slapped her lover across the face as hard as she dared. It wouldn't leave a mark, but it definitely would have stung had Grace been awake. And as Ingrid felt the last stinging needles fade from her palm, she saw a recognition return to Grace's eyes. As the fog cleared, Grace looked around her slowly, and when she realized that they were about to dock on Santo Matteo, she knew what had happened. Her face colored fiercely and she looked around, first at the other passengers, who had clearly observed what had happened, and then to her partner, who had a worried but intensely relieved look about her. 

"It happened didn't it?" she asked apprehensively. 

"Yeah, but it's all right. You're okay now." Ingrid soothed. 

"I was out the whole time?" 

"Pretty much, yeah." 

"Damn!" Grace cursed, closing her eyes. She hated it when she slipped into the trance. It wasn't painful, but it frightened her because she hated the thought that she could be completely helpless and unaware of what was going on around her. Hated that she couldn't control whatever this was and that she couldn't feel them coming on. 

"It's okay, Grace. It's over and you're all right. That's all that matters." Ingrid said reassuringly. "Come on, we're here now. Let's go. Viv said she'd be waiting for us." 

Ingrid led Grace off the ferry, ignoring the fact that the other passengers were whispering quietly to each other, clearly about them. Viv was waiting for them at the dock, as promised, and she drove them back to the mission camp, where she had dinner waiting. After eating, they begged off any further conversation, pleading fatigue from the long day, and retreated to their little cabin. 

Inside, Grace pulled the drapes across the cabin's three little windows, and the women silently dressed for bed. When she'd finished, Ingrid moved to her bed and sat, picking up a book that she had borrowed from Viv. Grace finished dressing as well and moved to her own bed, pulling back the blankets and sitting down. 

"Ingrid?" Grace said after a long silence. 

Ingrid looked up from her book. 

"Would you hold me? Just for a little while?" Grace asked softly. 

Ingrid felt her heart jump. It was the first time Grace had really wanted to be close to her since that stolen kiss on the back porch of her Cascade home all those months before. "Of course I will." she said and she tossed aside the book and crossed quickly to the other bed, taking her partner into her arms. 

"Can we lay down for a while?" Grace asked after a minute. 

Without another word, Ingrid blew out the oil lamp on the nightstand between their two beds, while Grace slid under the blankets. Sliding in behind her partner, Ingrid could barely contain her happiness when Grace turned in her arms and snuggled up against her. They held each other for a long time without speaking, taking comfort from the closeness, the warmth, and softness of each other's curves. Then, without warning, Ingrid felt Grace plant a small kiss at the base of her neck, and she almost stopped breathing, afraid to even hope that they had turned some sort of corner and were finally on the road to recovery. 

Ingrid exhaled as Grace continued to kiss her and the sound seemed unnaturally loud, even to her ears. Tentatively, she allowed herself to run a hand down Grace's back and across the swell of her bottom, caressing the supple flesh. Grace moved over her then, and the kisses grew harder, hotter, and had an unmistakable air of desperation. Rising up to straddle her lover's hips, Grace gave her lover one long, last kiss and sat up. And even though she couldn't see clearly in the darkened room, Ingrid knew that Grace was studying her face, knew that her lover could see the play of emotions across her face, the love, the fear, the relief. 

And this was a true milestone, because they'd never been intimate before. In truth, neither had been ready to take that next step and they hadn't had the time or opportunity in any event. They'd always been separated, or running, or traveling, or drained from running a nonstop gauntlet of emotions. 

And to her own surprise, Grace took the lead. As she reached down and took the hem of her nightgown into her hands, she realized that she needed this. After years of feeling small and helpless - first to her husband, and then to her senses - she needed to feel powerful just once. She may have had no control over her life or her body, but she could control this one encounter. And maybe that was enough to help her hold on to what was left of her sanity for just a little bit longer. 

She pulled the nightgown over her head, then reached down and took the thin cotton of Ingrid's nightgown between long, elegant fingers, and pulled her lover's garment off. Now, almost completely nude, Grace moved back down and kissed her partner urgently, gasping into her open mouth as they ground their pelvises together. Then she rolled them to their sides and pushed Ingrid's panties, and then her own, down and off. 

As they moved together, Ingrid reached down between Grace's legs and thrust two fingers inside her. Grace gasped and moved her hand down to cover her lover's. As Grace moved down for more consuming kisses, their entwined hands caressed, rubbed, and stroked frantically, clumsily. And breathless little cries escaped her as Grace felt the orgasm approaching, building, almost overpowering her. And as she neared the end, Grace reasserted her control, yanking both hers and Ingrid's hands away. She brought her arms up and sank her hands into her partner' flame red curls, effectively holding her down and caressing her at the same time. And the two women ground together over and over and over until Grace buried her face in the curve of Ingrid's neck, tensed, cried out, and began to spasm. As Grace rode out her orgasm, Ingrid freed her hands to grab her partner's bottom and pull her shaking lover tightly against her body. Clinging tightly, Ingrid continued to rub against Grace until she finally joined her lover in release. 

And it was nice. Hell, it was more than nice; it was pretty damn good. If they hadn't both been so desperate for the comfort, it might have almost been romantic. But after all they'd endured, they couldn't afford to be picky; they'd take whatever they could get. This was good enough for now. 

Breathing hard, the women rolled to their sides and pulled the blankets up around themselves, clinging together exhaustedly, until they drifted off to sleep. 

oOo 

Turning to shield her eyes from the bright sun shining through the thin curtains, Grace stirred sluggishly and felt the supple curve of Ingrid's hip beneath her fingertips. Remembering what had happened the night before, she smiled to herself and snuggled closer. As she did, she felt Ingrid's sleepy, lazy caresses across her back. And her hazy brain registered that she hadn't felt so safe or so rested in ages. It was a welcome change from the relentless fear and tension of the last year. As far as she was concerned, she would have been happy if they never moved from that bed. 

As she drifted in and out of wakefulness, Grace became vaguely aware of a sound at the back of her consciousness. And she realized, a minute too late, what she was hearing; it was the sound of little feet rapidly approaching the cabin, and two young voices calling hers and Ingrid's names. 

"Grace! Ingrid! Breakfast time! Breakfast time!" 

She became instantly awake, pushed desperately at Ingrid's shoulder to wake her and hissed a warning. As she fell out of the bed, scrambling for the nightclothes that had been tossed aside during the heated events of the previous evening, she heard heavier footsteps trailing behind, and Viv's voice. 

"Wait, girls! Don't go in without - " 

Then, as Ingrid shot straight up in the bed and yanked the covers to her chest, and Grace finally found one of the discarded nightgowns and yanked it from the floor, the door flew open. The two little girls rushed in and stopped dead in their tracks, gawking in confusion at the two barely covered women. When Viv finally caught up with them, the look on her face could not have been mistaken for anything other than what it was, pure disgust. And with a gasp of horror, she colored fiercely, grabbed both girls by the arm and hustled them forcefully out of the room and across the yard at a dead run, shouting her husband's name. 

Grace felt her heart drop right into her stomach. Quickly, she pulled on a robe and rushed out the door toward the main house. Before she could reach it, Eugene came running out. 

"Eugene, -- " 

He grabbed her by the arm, his beefy fingers hurting her as he hustled her back toward the cabin. As they neared the house, Ingrid, who had pulled on her own robe, appeared in the doorway. Eugene strong-armed her back inside and pulled Grace in behind him, then slammed the door. 

"Eugene, -- " Grace tried again. 

"Don't say a word. I don't want to hear anything you have to say." he said lowly. "You have fifteen minutes to pack your things and get the hell out." 

"Eugene, we don't have - " 

"We have children!" he yelled, his temper getting the better of him. "How dare you bring your perversion into this house! This holy place! How dare you perpetrate this fraud against us in order to take advantage of our generosity!" 

Grace felt her face grow hot with mortification. 

"I knew there was something wrong about you from the start. I should have listened to my instincts. Fifteen minutes, not a second more." he said with finality, and he turned and left, throwing the door open with a loud bang as it slammed against the wall. 

"We have the land now. We can go there." Ingrid said as she shut the door. 

"I've never been so - " Grace began, then she stopped and took a shaky breath and her cheeks were absolutely crimson. "Let's just go." she finished tightly. 

Silently, the two women changed into street clothes and packed up their things. When they'd finished, Ingrid knew they wouldn't be able to move the three heavy trunks by themselves, so she took it upon herself to bear the humiliation of asking for help. The short walk from the little cabin to the main house was possibly the longest ten yards on the face of the planet, but she didn't have to complete it, Eugene was out the front door and approaching her before she could get too close. And as he rushed toward her, she spied an innocent little face in the window next to the front door, then she saw Viv rush over and pull the girl quickly away from the window and draw the curtains. 

"What do you want?" 

"We, " her voice cracked and she cleared her throat, then stood her full height. She had nothing to be ashamed of; she knew that. "We're going to need some help getting our things to our land." 

She saw him struggling with her request, knew he didn't want to help her. 

"Look," she said firmly after a second. "The faster you help us, the faster you'll be rid of us." 

That did the trick. With a resigned, but angry glare, he walked back into the house, then returned a minute later with his car keys in his hand and Talca, one of the local Indians who often assisted him, following. He stormed to the little cabin, with Talca trailing behind at almost a jog to keep up. 

One by one, they pulled each of the trunks out of doors, then Eugene pulled the Landrover to the front of the house and they loaded the luggage inside. Without a word, Eugene and Talca got into the front seat of the vehicle and sat. Ingrid realized that she was not going to be asked to get into the car. She collected Grace and the two women climbed into the back seat. They'd barely managed to shut the doors before Eugene had shifted the car into drive and was tearing away on cloud of dirt and dust. He drove faster than he should have, given the pitiful state of the dirt roads. And in the back seat, the poor women were tossed about. 

When they'd reached the plot of land, Eugene brought the car to a screeching halt, jumped out without even bothering to turn off the engine and barked an order at Talca in Maracan. As the women climbed out, the men were hauling their trunks out of the car and depositing them in the middle of the road. Then Talca returned to the car and Ingrid could have sworn that he looked at them with understanding and compassion before climbing inside. But before he climbed back into the car, Eugene delivered a very different message. "Don't ever come back." he spat and then he got back into the car and sped away, leaving them in a cloud of dust. 

"I guess we should find a spot to set up camp." Ingrid said when the dust had cleared. 

Grace didn't respond, but instead, simply lifted one end of the first trunk and waited for Ingrid to do the same. With a frustrated sigh, Ingrid lifted the other handle and the two made their way across the little plot of land toward a clearing near the back slope. They repeated the process two more times until each of the trunks had been moved to their new home. When they'd finished, Grace sat down wearily on a patch of grass and leaned back against one of the trunks. 

"So you're not going to talk to me?" Ingrid asked after a minute. 

"What is there to say, Ingrid? I mean what do you want from me?" she asked angrily. 

"I want you to stop freezing me out like I did something wrong, here." Ingrid said hotly. 

Grace looked away. 

"Grace!" Ingrid pushed. 

"You... You made him angry! I told you not to! I knew something bad would happen. I knew it! And how could you not lock the door?" Grace accused, still looking away. 

Ingrid smiled sadly. "Oh, I get it. So I guess I did do something wrong. I guess it's all my fault. Is that it?" 

Grace didn't answer. 

"He was wrong, Grace. You know he was. I won't watch someone else be abused just because it makes my life easier. If I could do that, you'd still be locked in the bowels of the Mountain Vista Sanitarium." 

Grace flinched at the jab, but remained silent. 

"And as for the door, we were out in the middle of nowhere at a mission camp. It's not like we had cause to be concerned for our safety. I was tired and I forgot, just like you forgot two nights ago when you returned from the shower. We've both done it, so why am I the bad guy now?" 

Ingrid waited in vain for a response, listening to the sound of her own angry breath reverberating in her ears. 

"Don't do this to me, Grace. Don't you dare shut me out like I'm not even here." she insisted. 

Grace rubbed tiredly at her temples; her head throbbed. "It's just one humiliation after another. One catastrophe after another. I can't keep - " she began, then she let out a little yelp of pain. 

Ingrid saw Grace spring to her feet and grab at her thigh. As she writhed in pain, Ingrid ran over and pulled her hand away from her leg to reveal several angry red welts that were already starting to swell. Looking down to where Grace had been sitting, she saw a trail of red fire ants; Grace must have inadvertently seated herself in their path. 

Ingrid breathed a sigh of relief; painful though the bites were, at least they were not poisonous. Grace let out a cry that spoke of both frustration and pain. When she looked back at her partner, Ingrid saw that the welts were angrier and redder than they had a right to be, and she realized that with her partner's senses being what they were, the bites were likely infinitely more painful than they would have been for an average person. 

"Come sit down. I'll get the first aid kit." Ingrid said with resignation, and she extended her hand to assist her injured partner. 

"No!" Grace screamed and Ingrid looked up in surprise. She'd never heard this tone of pure rage from her lover before. Fear, sadness, despair, even irritation, she'd seen plenty of that. But this was different. 

"I _hate_ this place! I hate it! I can't _do_ this anymore!" she raged. 

"Grace, calm down." Ingrid said slowly. 

"No! You! You did this to me! You did this!" Grace accused hysterically. 

Ingrid felt the blow of Grace's accusation more than she imagined she would have if her partner had actually hauled off and hit her. Her eyes narrowed. " _You_ wanted to come here." she said evenly, but her voice was full of barely restrained bitterness. "We could have gone anywhere in the world, but _you_ chose this place." 

"You took me away from my children." Grace continued, ignoring the truth of Ingrid's statement. "You hatched this little plan - staging our deaths! - and I didn't even know. I didn't have the chance to decide for myself! You didn't leave me with any other choice!" she sobbed. 

And then Ingrid realized what she was talking about. It wasn't about the location at all; it was about everything, and apparently she was the cause of all the problems. "Is this what we've come to?" she asked sadly, allowing herself the luxury of shedding a few burning tears of her own. She'd rarely done so during the whole ordeal of the past month, feeling that she needed to stay strong for Grace, had to be the one to help her see things through. But it was all just becoming too much. 

"What do you want from me, Grace? What do you want me to say?" she asked, managing to her own amazement, to hold her voice steady. 

"I don't want this! I don't want _this_." Grace breathed brokenly. "I can't .... I just can't..." 

And before she lost complete control and said something she would regret forever, Grace had to get away, had to find someplace where she could think. She backed away, leaving Ingrid standing with their belongings, looking after her miserably. And she turned and kept walking, down the hill to their creek, where she found a large rock and sat down cautiously, mindful of her injury. 

With a sigh, she looked around at the lush landscape. It was beautiful, but this was wrong, all wrong. When she'd first seen the pictures of the island in the National Geographic they'd purchased at a Los Angeles newsstand, she'd felt such an intense, gut-level pull toward it that she'd been certain that it was the place they should escape to. It had seemed perfect, far enough away and remote enough that there was no chance that William would ever find her. That, alone, was reason enough to choose it. But it was also beautiful, green, and warm in a way she'd never experienced before. From the panicked huddle of the dingy West Hollywood motel where they'd hidden themselves, it seemed a safe place. A refuge. But it was nothing like she'd imagined. It was hard, and hot, and full of hideous vermin. It was so much more foreign than anything she'd ever experienced before that she found herself overwhelmed by the differences, rather than comforted by them. And this constant sniping with Ingrid did nothing but add to her despair. She wondered constantly whether she hadn't made the biggest mistake of her life. 

She wasn't sure how long she sat pondering the path her life had taken, but she knew it was a long time. When she heard Ingrid's footsteps approaching from behind, she felt a knot in her stomach. She didn't want to argue anymore. She was so tired of the quarreling. For the first time, she thought that she might rather welcome the numbing void of one of her trances. Wordlessly, Ingrid came down and sat next to Grace on the rock. 

"We can't go on like this, Grace. We just can't." she said softly after a long moment. 

Grace didn't answer. Didn't know what to say. 

"I love you so much I don't know how to put it into words. I can't even explain it. I've never felt this way about another person before. But I can't live like this. I can't bear the thought of you resenting me. Maybe what I did wasn't the best option. Maybe there was a better alternative. But I... I don't know. I couldn't figure out another way. I did the best I could. I did what I thought I had to do to protect you." 

"I know you did." Grace finally said. 

"But as much as I love you, I can't, no, I _won't_ allow you to continue to take out your anger on me. I don't think I deserve that." Pausing heavily, Ingrid allowed herself to get lost in a brightly colored bird alighting in a distant tree. She needed that moment to prepare herself for the most difficult thing she'd ever had to say. 

"All we have in the world now is each other. If we can't count on that, then I just don't see any point in going on. .... It's probably not too late to rescind the purchase of this land. We could get our money back, split it, and go our separate ways.... if that's what you want." 

"That's not what I want." Grace said passionately. 

"Then we've got to figure out some way to work through this, because it can't continue." 

Grace took Ingrid's hand in both of hers and rubbed it slowly. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks, but a calm had overtaken her and when she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, but determined. 

"I don't resent you, Ingrid. I don't." she managed past the lump in her throat. "I would have died in that sanitarium if you hadn't come for me. I know I would have. No one has ever loved me the way you do or sacrificed so much for me. I'll never be able to tell you how much that means to me, how much that makes me love you." 

Grace twined her fingers with Ingrid's as she searched for the right words to go on. 

"I feel like I'm in a black hole and I can't get out. I can't even see the light at the top. I..." she sniffled a little and swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. "I left my children. What kind of mother does that make me? The guilt is eating me alive and I don't know how to make it stop." she choked out. 

"You didn't have a choice, Grace. William never would have let you have any contact with your boys anyway. He never would have brought them to see you in that place; he never would have come himself. He'd have made sure you lost custody of the boys and you couldn't have fought him on it, not with his money and power. He played a game you couldn't win. You know that." 

"I know, but I'm afraid, Ingrid. Afraid I'll never see them again. Afraid that William and his family are going to poison them against me so they grow up hating me, or even worse, forgetting all about me." 

"You know that's not going to happen. Those boys love you. You've been the biggest influence on their lives to date. You don't just forget that." 

"But they're so young, still so easily influenced. Jamie, he's old enough so that maybe he'll remember me, remember the way things were before the split no matter what William says. But Stephen already resented me because of the separation. I think I've already lost him. Maybe I've already lost them both, I don't know. That family has so much control over them." 

"Then we'll find them when they come of age. We'll tell them the truth, make them understand." 

"What if they don't believe us? What if they hate me because I left or because of us? What if they think I'm as degenerate as everyone else seems to believe? I couldn't bear that." 

"Are you ashamed of us?" Ingrid asked seriously. 

"No." Grace said immediately. "I can't believe that anything as strong as what we feel for each other could be wrong." 

"Then trust in that. I don't know what's going to happen to us on this island. I don't know what's going to happen with Jamie and Stephen. But I do know that when the time comes to face all of those things, that as long as we stick together, there's nothing we can't handle. If we can make it this far with all the cards stacked against us, we can do anything. I know that with more certainty than I've ever known anything else in my entire life." 

Grace nodded mutely. 

"But you gotta talk to me, Grace. Let me take some of that pain from you and lighten your burden. I'd do that for you. I'd do anything you asked of me. But I can't help you if you shut me out." 

"I know." Grace murmured. 

"And I need you, too. This hasn't been easy for me, either. I have to know I can count on you when I need some support." 

"I'm sorry I haven't been there for you. I've been so terribly selfish. There's no excuse. I don't want to lose you." 

"So let's stop this. Let's make a promise that we're not going to fight anymore. That we're not going to assign blame." 

"I promise." Grace said with a wobbly smile. 

"All right." Ingrid smiled, and she leaned forward and kissed her partner sweetly on the mouth. "Then let's get busy. We've got a camp to make." 

The two women stood, and Grace faltered a bit. Ingrid supported her, looking down to see that the insect bites were ugly and swollen. 

"And let's take care of that leg." she said and she helped her companion up the hill and back to their camp. 

After tending to Grace's wounds, the women managed to set up their camp. They didn't do half bad considering that Grace had never camped in her life and Ingrid had only done so twice when she was a 10-year-old girl scout. By the afternoon, they had managed to pitch their tent, start a fire, and gather some water from the creek and set it to boil. They realized immediately that food was going to be an issue. They'd had enough foresight to pack some dehydrated meals, cereals, and rice with their supplies, but it wouldn't last long. It would be two weeks before the ferry returned. If they rationed very carefully, they might be able to make their meager provisions last until then. But unless they could figure out a way to secure their belongings, one of them would have to make the long trek to the little open-air market in Confianza, and also to the mainland, alone. 

And as the women settled down to sleep at night inside their little tent, starting at all manner of strange noises from the animals and insects around them, they huddled together for solace, and the daunting nature of what lay ahead of them was more real than ever before. 

oOo 

Grace shot straight up, her heart racing. 

"What?" Ingrid asked sleepily. 

"There's someone outside." she paused and listened. "No, more than one, and they're coming closer." she said in a frantic whisper. 

Clambering out of their sleeping bags, the two women quickly pulled on jeans and Ingrid rifled through their trunk of supplies for a knife. 

"What do we do?" Grace asked, frightened. 

"We go out and face whoever it is. Stand our ground." Ingrid said with determination. 

The women emerged tentatively into the bright morning sunlight, to see four Indian men approaching. As always, Ingrid's first instinct was to protect her partner, and she stepped forward to shield Grace, the knife grasped firmly in her hand but held behind her back. But as the men approached, the women realized that they recognized two of them. One was Talca, the Indian who had assisted Eugene in so unceremoniously kicking them out of the mission camp. Another was the young boy from the chapel that Ingrid had helped a week earlier. 

The men kept walking until they stood in front of the two women. The oldest of the men spoke in Maracan, then the young man turned to address the women in English. 

"I am Joao and this is my grandfather, Jatai. My grandfather says please to not be afraid. We mean you no harm. And he thanks you for helping me retrieve our religious symbols." 

"You're welcome, but what do you want from us?" Ingrid asked cautiously. 

The older man spoke again. 

"My grandfather saw you on the ferry. He says that he has prayed for you to come." the boy translated. 

Grace looked up at the older man, who was regarding them with kind, intelligent, brown eyes. 

"What? Why would he pray for _us_ to come here? How does he know us?" Ingrid asked. 

"Grandfather says that it has been many years since the gods have blessed us with a sentinel and shamen." 

"A what? What's a sentinel?" Grace asked in confusion. 

Joao turned back to his grandfather and translated Grace's question. When the boy had finished speaking, the old man looked at them and a knowing smile crossed his face. He spoke again and the boy turned back to them. 

"My grandfather says that it is not unusual for a sentinel to not understand their gift at first. He can help you. He asks that you please come with us." 

Ingrid turned, looking skeptically at her partner. But Grace was exchanging a look with the old man that spoke louder than the preceding discussion. 

"Grace?" 

"I... I think we can trust them, Ingrid." Grace said slowly. 

Ingrid turned back to the men. "But, our things," she began. 

"Please," the boy continued on his own. "Your things will be safe. And we would be honored if you would share a meal with us." 

So the women secured their belongings in their tent and followed the four men toward Confianza. 

**III**

Leaning back in my chair, I stared across the beach and stretched my sight far out to sea, watching a cargo ship passing about a mile away. It had finally stopped raining, and the sun was shining brightly for the first time in well over a week. Inside the little cottage, I could hear my partner rustling around, humming softly to himself. 

I jerked suddenly at a sensation on my arm and looked up to see Blair standing next to me, dressed in swim trunks, a towel around his neck. 

"Hey, it's just me." Blair said calmly. 

"Sorry, guess I was zoning a bit." 

"You all right?" he asked, pulling up a chair and sitting down. 

I turned back to the water. "Yeah, I'm fine." 

"You've been awfully quiet today." Blair pressed. 

"I suppose." I said moodily. 

"So you're not going to tell me what's up?" 

I shrugged and I could hear my partner's heartbeat increase and feel his temperature rise five degrees. I'd pissed him off. 

"I thought we agreed to talk when things were bothering you." he said in frustration. 

"I'm not going to eat my gun, if that's what you're worried about." I snapped. 

Blair didn't respond, but I heard a sharp intake of breath that caused me to turn toward him. He was looking at me very seriously, and there was a pain reflected in his eyes that I hadn't seen since that awful day on the bluff. 

"That's not funny, Jim." he said earnestly. 

I sighed, then reached out and took Blair's hand into mine. "No, it's not. I'm sorry." I paused for a long moment then squeezed Blair's hand for support, scrounging up the courage to tell him what had been bothering me all morning. "She had an awful time after they escaped." 

Blair looked down to see one of the battered journals on the side table. "Your mom." he confirmed. 

I nodded. 

"I imagine it would have been very difficult for them. On the run in unforgiving territory in a strange country where they don't speak the language, that wouldn't be easy for anyone let alone two women as young and inexperienced as your mom and Ingrid were." 

"I hate my father so much. I feel like it's going to consume me." I said intensely. "I can't stand him for what he did to her, what he put her through. But..." 

"But what?" Blair asked when I didn't continue. 

"Before they split, sure, Dad wasn't around much, but things weren't that bad, at least not for Stephen and me. My mom told me before she died that when I was born I was Dad's pride and joy. I must have blocked it out, but I remember it now. He wasn't much with words, but he loved me. I think I knew that, even though it was obvious that he and Mom weren't getting along. 

"But when she left, that was when Dad started pitting us against each other. That was when nothing I did was ever enough to please him. That was when...when things got really tough for Stephen and me. I know that she didn't think she had any options. And I love her. I do. But - but ...." I sighed in frustration, why was it so god damn hard to say what I meant? 

"But you resent her for leaving you in that situation." 

I shook my head sadly. Blair had always been able to just cut to the chase, had always been able to see right through me. 

"She couldn't have known how bad it would be for us. I know she couldn't. When he was around, Dad was good to Stephen and me. How can I resent her when she didn't have any choice? When she never could have known? What kind of person does that make me?" 

Blair ran a comforting hand over my arm. "We all make the best choices we can under the circumstances. But we also have to know that there are consequences to our actions. What we do affects others, often in ways we never could have imagined. That's just the way it is; that's what happened here. It's not disrespectful to her memory to resent what happened to you. That doesn't make you a bad person." 

"But what if I blame her, too?" 

"Blame her?" 

I hesitated, then spoke in a self-conscious rush. "Forget I said anything. She couldn't control what she was. I know that better than anyone. I'm just being stupid...." 

"Your feelings are not stupid, Jim." Blair said firmly. 

Another long minute passed before I decided it was safe to say what I was thinking. "If she'd been able to control her senses more, if she hadn't gotten involved with Ingrid, if she hadn't passed that god damned mutant gene onto me maybe.... maybe Dad wouldn't have been so afraid that I was going to become her that he had to stop loving me. Maybe he wouldn't have treated me like such a freak." 

I turned back to the water. 

Wow. That was a doozy. I hadn't even realized I was going to say that. Once I'd made the decision to speak, it had all just come rushing out like I had opened the floodgates. Jesus, I wasn't sure I wanted to do that again. But when Blair finally responded to my little rant, it was without the slightest bit of recrimination. God bless him. 

"You wish you hadn't been born a Sentinel?" 

"Not all the time like I did when the senses first kicked in again after Peru. I mean, not when something good happens," I said, honestly. Hell, I'd gone this far. Why stop now? "like when I'm able to use the senses to rescue someone, or when I realize that I never would have met you without them. But I can't lie, sometimes, yes, I still wish that I wasn't a Sentinel. The senses were the reason my father was ashamed of me. I always knew that. So, growing up, I wished things were different. I wished I was normal so that we could have a happy family. Even now I sometimes wish I'd come from one of those Norman Rockwell families where everyone loved each other and got together for Sunday dinner and a tall, cold lemonade on the porch. Sometimes I wish I had that life, rather than the one where everyone's dysfunctional and I manage to live up to every one of my father's worst nightmares." 

Blair huffed a frustrated sigh before he began talking a mile a minute. "First of all, your father's an asshole, Jim." 

I looked up in surprise at the strong statement. It was uncharacteristic for Blair to speak poorly of anyone. 

"I'm sorry to be so blunt, but it's the truth. I mean, what, exactly, is it that you did to disappoint him so much?" 

"I... I..." I stammered, unable to think of a single thing I actually did. 

"I mean, you were a good student, right?" 

"Yeah, I did okay." 

"Your were a successful athlete?" 

"I continued to play football through high school. I got a couple of letters. I did okay." 

"Did you smoke, drink, do drugs?" 

"No." I answered slowly as I realized where Blair was going with this. 

"So, what, exactly, did you _do_ , Jim? You were a good kid, a quiet, respectful, talented kid who grew up to be a military hero and the best cop on the Cascade police force. What the hell is there to be disappointed about there?" 

"I don't know. I guess..." I paused heavily. "I guess it was just because I was like her." 

"Well, did you ever stop to think that maybe your Dad had the problem and not you?" 

"Ahm..." 

"No, you didn't." Blair said knowingly. "You just knew there was a problem and assumed you were to blame for it. Well, stop that. You're not responsible for everyone's happiness. You don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, you know, Jim. Really, you don't." 

I continued to look out over the water, trying to process this. 

"That's number one. Number two is this, those Norman Rockwell paintings are pure fiction, man. Even Ozzie and Harriet weren't perfect; if they had been their sons wouldn't have wound up so screwed up. I mean, can you really see yourself working a boring 9-5 crunching numbers and spending your evenings at the country club with a tall read-headed trophy wife on your arm? That is _so_ not you. Senses or not, I don't think you were ever destined for that fate." 

"So why do I hate my mother for taking something away from me that never would have existed in any event?" 

"Because you don't miss the reality, you miss what you wished the reality had been. That's normal, Jim. It's completely normal. It's just like Princess Diana and the Duchess of York." 

That complete non sequitur whizzed right past me at breakneck speed. I turned to look at Blair like he had two heads. "Run that by me again?" 

"You'd think that marrying a prince would be the best thing in the world, right? I mean every little girl dreams about it. It's Cinderella, Snow White, and Sleeping Beauty; it's all the fairy tales we tell little girls as they grow up. You get a lavish televised wedding with horse drawn carriages and designer gowns. Then you get to be a princess with castles, jewels, servants, people curtseying when you pass, and every night is another sparkling event full of celebrities and heads of state. What could be better, right? 

"But once the pomp and ceremony of the wedding is over, you find out that your husband is a self-centered snob who cheats on you at the drop of a hat and considers that behavior perfectly acceptable. As a matter of fact, you're the one who's a troublemaker because you have the nerve to be upset about it. On top of that, the family is so dysfunctional they should have a file down at social services. The palace is cold and dreary and the servants all despise you and actively work to sabotage you. You're more alone than you ever were before you got married because everyone that claims to be your friend turns around to sell your story to the tabloids. And the sparkling events full of celebrities and heads of state are long and boring, the tiara gives you a headache, the ball gowns are uncomfortable, and you despise having to smile while all you really want to do is scream. 

"See what I'm talking about? The reality of being a princess is the polar opposite of the fantasy version. All those little girls who want to be a princess want the fantasy version, not the real one. Similarly, you've got this idealized version of family life in your head, that's what you miss. But that was the Donna Reed Show, Jim; it was never reality. Not for anyone." 

"So why do I keep beating myself up then? Why do I feel like ten different kinds of asshole?" 

"Because that's normal, too." Blair said with a small chuckle. "You know what your real problem is, Jim? You focus so much on what's different in your life that you don't realize that you're more normal than you'd like to think. Everyone has issues, Jim. Everyone has mixed feelings about their parents. It's all just variations on a theme. 

"Look, why don't you take a break, huh? This is the first beautiful day we've had in over a week, let's take advantage of it. There are some pretty good waves out there, why don't you give me another surfing lesson?" 

"Thanks, Chief, but I think I'm going to pass." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yeah. You go have fun, though." 

Blair stood, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "All right. But don't sit here and stew, okay? Don't let this get the better of you. It'll be all right." 

I squeezed Blair's hand. "I'll be okay, Chief. You go have fun." 

"All right. Join me later, if you feel like it." 

"Yeah, all right." 

Blair started down the steps. 

"Hey," I yelled after him. 

Blair turned. 

"Be careful out there. The surf is still pretty rough from the storms." 

Blair rolled his eyes. "Yes, mother." he said sarcastically and he grinned when I flipped him a good-natured bird, then turned and headed toward the water. 

I sat back and watched as my partner dropped his towel and waded into the surf. The younger man bobbed over a couple of waves, then body surfed a few. Then, fun apparently over, he started swimming in earnest. I had noticed that he made a habit of swimming up and down our cove for at least a half an hour a day, weather permitting. Though he wasn't the hardbody that I was, he did make a point of getting in enough exercise to keep himself in excellent shape. Given our locale, it would have been easy enough to succumb to sleeping late, lounging in the sun, and eating 10 times a day, but Blair would have none of it. 

Turning my attention back to the journal, I picked it up and absently turned a couple of the yellowing pages. Blair told me not to stew, but I couldn't help it, really. I felt betrayed. I felt guilty. I felt miserable. I needed a beer. I tossed the book down, then stood, walked inside, and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. Twisting off the cap, I took a deep swig, emptying a good quarter of the bottle, and enjoyed the feel of the cold liquid sliding down my dry throat. Then I turned and headed back to the terrace. I'd almost made it to the door when my hearing honed in with laser precision on my lover's voice. He was calling for help. The bottle dropped from my hand as I raced out onto the terrace, only to see Blair flailing in the water and being dragged away from the beach. 

I took off at a dead run, ripping off my shirt as I went. I ran into the water, lifting my knees high as I went to make it over the surf. When I was deep enough, I dived in, lunging headfirst beneath the crest of a crashing wave. And once I was past the breakpoint, I swam as hard as I could, all the while honing in on the sound of Blair's voice, noting with distress that his cries were getting farther and farther apart. 

I kept moving, feeling my limbs slice through the rough water even as the tide pulled me out, too. When I finally made it to where Blair was, he'd already slipped beneath the surface. I took a deep breath, then flipped and dove into the depths. Instantly, I spotted Blair sinking down and I stroked hard until I was able to grab hold of one arm and hang on, then reposition until I had a strong hold around his chest and I was finally able to move back toward the sunlight. 

Back above the surface, I tightened my hold on my now unconscious partner and turned my attention to escaping the riptide. As the tide continued to pull us out, I began to swim parallel to the shoreline. I'd covered almost half the length of our beach before I finally felt the pull of the tide lessen. When it was finally weak enough to escape it's grip, I turned out of the tide and headed toward dry land. And when I was close enough to the shore to stand up and walk, I hoisted Blair over my shoulder and carried him onto the sand. Laying him down, I turned his head to the side to allow water to drain from his mouth and nose, then I pinched his nose and opened his mouth and blew in four times. Frantically, I pressed my ear to Blair's chest, watching for it to rise and fall, listening for breaths. 

"Don't you do this to me, Chief! Don't you fucking do this! Not again!" I swore, distraught. 

I began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation again, all the while flashing back on another awful day when Blair had lain cold, wet, and lifeless on the ground and I'd pressed my lips to his in a desperate attempt to blow life into his limp body. On the third breath he let out a cough and water bubbled out of his mouth. I flipped him over onto his side to keep him from choking. And as he continued to cough and sputter, I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding and sank down into the sand, trying to calm a heart that felt like it would explode from exertion and fear. At the sound of running feet, I looked up to see Allison and Bodie rushing toward us. 

"Oh my god! Is he okay?" Allison exclaimed. 

"I need to get him to a hospital. How do I get an ambulance?" I asked breathlessly. 

"No." Blair managed between coughs. "No hospital. I'm all right." 

"No way, Chief. You could develop pneumonia. You could have heart failure. Anything could happen." I said firmly. 

"No." Blair insisted again and he sat up when the hacking finally ceased. 

"This is not up for negotiation." I insisted. 

"Jim, please. I'm all right. I swear." 

"Look," Allison interrupted. "I know a doctor who doesn't live far from here. I have a bike. I could go and ask him to come over and take a look at Blair." 

Blair looked up at me, pleading. 

"Yeah. Okay." I conceded, unable to deny him anything. "But if he says you go to the hospital, you go." 

Blair nodded tiredly. 

"I'll be back as soon as I can." Allison said and she stood and ran back toward her house, Bodie following behind. 

In the meantime, I began to lift Blair from the sand. 

"I can walk!" Blair exclaimed and I set him on his feet. "I told you, I'm okay." 

"All right. All right. Let's just get you inside." 

Throwing Blair's arm around my shoulder, I assisted him down the beach and into the house. Inside, I took him directly to my bed and sat him down, then I pulled the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around him. Blair tossed the blanket off and I pulled it back around him. 

"Jim! It's 95 degrees outside!" 

"Use the blanket, Sandburg!" I growled. "You could go into shock! You need to stay warm." 

"I'm not going into shock. Jeez, Jim, stop freaking out and look at me!" Blair insisted testily as he tossed the blanket off again. 

I took a deep breath, then did as my guide instructed. Focusing in on Blair's vitals, I saw that his breathing, though slightly elevated, seemed normal, his pulse was also within the acceptable range of a pissed off guide. There was no sign of chills, and when I reached out to touch his face, his temperature was also in the normal range and his skin was neither cold nor clammy. 

"See." Blair said. 

"Yeah. Okay." I said, feeling my heart finally stop racing. 

"I told you. I'm fine." 

"I still want the doctor to take a look at you." 

"If it'll make you happy. But in the meantime, can you get me a towel? I'm dripping all over the sheets, man." 

"Yeah, sure. And I'll make you some tea." 

"That sounds great." Blair said as I retreated to the next room. 

Within the hour, Allison returned with the doctor, who pronounced Blair fine, but advised him to take it easy for a while and said he'd come back to check up on him in a couple of days, just to be safe. By the time they both left, with my sincere thanks, the sun was going down and the temperature was cooling. I drew Blair a hot bath and while he was cleaning up, I changed the sheets on the bed and heated up a pot of soup. 

"Smells good, man. I'm hungry." Blair said when he emerged from the bathroom in boxers and a t-shirt, rubbing his hair with the towel. 

"Good." I said as I spooned out a bowl. 

Blair moved to the sofa and began to pull out the bed. 

"Hey, Chief," 

He looked up. 

"Look, why don't you take the bed. I'll sleep on the sofa tonight." 

"That's not necessary, Jim. I told you, I'm okay." 

"I really want you to. Okay? Humor me?" 

Blair nodded then returned the cushions to the sofa. 

"Go on in, I'll bring in the soup." I said. 

"Eating in bed? That's a violation of house rule number 137. You really must be worried." he said and he smiled a sheepish little smile that said he felt foolish over all the fuss, but that he was also grateful for my concern, and he disappeared into the bedroom. When I entered a couple of minutes later with a bowl of soup, a couple slices of bread, and a glass of water on a tray, he was sitting, propped up by several pillows. 

"Thanks, man." Blair said as I set the tray on his lap. 

"Hey, would you sit with me?" he asked when I turned to leave. 

I nodded, then sat and watched quietly as Blair ate his soup. As I watched, I felt a pain clutching at my chest, squeezing the life out of me and I realized that I was suffocating beneath the weight of my own fears. I was so damn afraid of losing him that I could barely process it and I sat there wondering how it had happened that I had come to need this long-haired love child so desperately. Determined to avoid the pain of loss, I hadn't allowed myself to need anybody, not even a little bit, since my mother had gone away. I wasn't about to allow anyone else to break my heart that way again. And all the losses I'd suffered over time - my men in Peru, Danny, Jack, Incacha, Lila, hell, even Caroline - had only reinforced the fact that I'd made the right decision. Yet here I was, needing Blair like I needed air to breathe and I couldn't have told you, for the life of me, how I'd gotten here. 

It reminded me of the time when I was twelve and my grandparents had taken Stephen and me to the beach for the weekend. They'd brought a big inner tube for Stephen and me to play with. It was big enough for both of us to sit inside comfortably. We'd climbed into the inner tube and had the best time floating in the water, using our snorkels to look at fish below the surface of the water. All the while, the current was quietly pulling us farther and farther away from the shore. Before we knew it, we were so far out we couldn't even make out the people on the beach. We tried to paddle in but the current was too strong and we had to be rescued by a lifeguard in a speedboat. 

Blair was like that current. He'd sucked me in, unsuspecting, pulling me farther and farther out until I was over my head and hopelessly lost. Now there was no going back. I couldn't even see the shoreline any longer. 

"I'm fine, Jim. Really." Blair said after a couple of minutes under my intense scrutiny. And he looked up at me, and I knew my face betrayed my panic. "Really." he said again. 

"Today was just a little too close for comfort." I said seriously. 

"Yeah. I'm with you there, but everything turned out okay, so let's just forget about it." 

"Forget about it?" I asked incredulously. "How the hell am I supposed to forget about this? I _can't_ forget this! I could have lost you today." 

"But you didn't." 

"But... It's just a little too familiar." I finished. 

"No one knows that more than me, Jim. Believe me, I'm thinking I might never even _drink_ another glass of water without a life vest on, but this was not your fault." 

"Blair - " 

"Jim! You are _not_ a jinx. There is not some malevolent curse on your head that dooms everyone around you." 

I looked at Blair sadly. 

"Empirical evidence would suggest otherwise." 

Blair set his tray on the nightstand and moved closer to me. 

"Jim, I know I promised you that nothing was ever going to happen to me. But I shouldn't have done that. I can't, realistically, promise that. In the course of a regular day, we face a little more danger than the average person. And my luck has never been the greatest, even long before I met you." 

I felt almost queasy at Blair's admission, and I looked away. 

"But that's the price we pay for a life fully lived, you know? I'd rather live one day with passion, doing something worthwhile that I enjoy, and being with the man I love, than live ten thousand days of a safe, boring, loveless existence." 

"I can't just stop worrying about you. Can't stop wondering what's going to happen next." 

"But if you spend every minute worrying about me, then you're not really _with_ me, you know what I mean? And Jim, I want you to be with me 100%. I want us to live every day like we mean it, so that if, god forbid, something happens to one of us, we don't go with any regrets." 

I continued to look away and shook my head despondently. This was everything I feared. Every goddamn thing I feared, and I couldn't deal with it. Just couldn't. And when I wouldn't turn to look at him, Blair moved around to look me in the eye; I couldn't hide the tears that were welling up. 

"Aaaaaw, Jim." Blair said with a sigh and he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me down onto the bed until we were lying together with my head on his shoulder. Blair stroked my hair as we lay there for long, quiet minutes. 

"I couldn't survive if I lost you. I couldn't." I finally said. 

"Yes you could." Blair replied confidently. "You'd be sad and you'd grieve, to be sure. But you'd go on. We have good friends and they'd be there for you. They'd help you make it through, the same way they'd help me if you went first." 

"No. I know I wouldn't make it." 

Blair squeezed me tightly, offering the only strength he could, really. "Jim, the way to honor my memory is not to give up on your own life. I wouldn't want that for you any more than you would want that for me if the tables were turned. Besides, if I go first, I'm going to be watching you and waiting for you and if you lock yourself in that loft and grieve yourself into a permanent stupor, I'll kick your ass when you finally join me." 

Involuntarily, then, I was assailed by an image of Blair decked out all in white, with magnificent wings and shining halo over those silky multicolor curls, winding up and giving me a sturdy kick in the posterior. The image penetrated through my gloom and I couldn't help it, suddenly I was laughing. Blair smiled and placed a kiss on my forehead. 

"All right then. I'm glad we understand each other." he said and he reached over and switched off the lamp. 

oOo 

The bus was unusually empty as I made my way back to our temporary home from a shopping expedition. Enjoying a rare seat to myself, I watched the scenery roll by. I was only a couple miles from home; it wouldn't be long now. 

At my insistence, and with vocal complaint, Blair had stayed home to rest. It had been a week since the riptide incident. He'd never really gotten sick, but I'd been able to detect the slightest bit of congestion in his chest and I knew it was just waiting for an opportunity to develop into pneumonia. Well, not on my watch. We weren't taking any chances where Blair's health was concerned. He'd take it easy until he got the Sentinel seal of good health, whether he liked it or not. Besides, I knew that he wasn't going to stay in bed, anyway. He'd be doing something that would earn a frown from me if I were around, but he'd still exert himself less than he would on the long trek into town. 

When the bus got about a half a mile away from our little cove, just for the hell of it, I focused my hearing to see if I could pick up on Blair. When I finally did, I realized that he wasn't at home, just as I suspected; he was visiting with Allison. 

"You made this yourself, from scratch? I can't believe it. It's delicious." Allison was saying. 

"Well, Jim went to town this morning and wouldn't let me come along; he's such a wet blanket, sometimes. So I was looking for something to do. You know, it's amazing what you'll do when you're bored to tears." 

I smiled to myself. Blair made a show of grousing, but there was no malice in his voice. 

"Jim just cares about you. I think it's sweet. Besides, he's probably right. You don't want to overexert yourself too soon." 

Hah. Good girl, Allison. You tell him. 

"The coffee's ready." 

"Here, let me help." 

"No, don't be silly. You sit yourself down." 

I heard footsteps, then, and the sound of pouring liquid, more footsteps, and then the sound of breaking glass and a little yelp of surprise. I sat up, instantly alert to danger, but the following conversation convinced me there was none. 

"Oh, my gosh, I'm so sorry!" Allison exclaimed, followed by the sound of what was likely cloth mopping across the floor. 

Wood scraped across the tile. "Here, let me help you." 

I could hear shards of glass, no heavier than glass, pottery probably, clinking together. 

"I can be such a klutz, sometimes." Allison said, embarrassment evident in her tone. 

"Don't worry about it. Accidents happen." Blair said reassuringly. 

"Thank you." Allison said gratefully and I smiled to myself again. My partner could put anyone at ease. 

I heard the sound of the broken pottery hitting the trashcan, and then Allison spoke again. "Let's try this one more time." 

I realized then, that we were approaching the spot where I needed to get off and I rang the bell and gathered my belongings. As I made it off the bus with my supplies and walked down the path to our little house, I tuned back in to Blair and Allison. 

"I'll never get over this coffee. I have never tasted coffee better than this local brew. I'm gonna ship 50 pounds home when we leave here." 

I could hear the smile in Allison's voice. "So how long do you plan on staying? Do you know?" 

"No, I'm still not sure. We haven't talked about it. I think we'll be here a good while longer, a couple of months perhaps. I think there are some other places we need to go before we finally head home, but it's up to Jim, really. This trip is for him. Ultimately, we'll stay as long as he wants to." 

"But you think you will return to Cascade?" 

"Yeah. I'm sure we will. But this is permanent for you, huh?" 

"Yeah. It is." 

"Well, we'll be sorry to lose you as a neighbor when we leave. But if you ever want to see how many forms of rain you can endure, replenish your flannel supply, or taste the best salmon in the world, you have to come visit us. We have plenty of room; we'd love to have you." 

"That's sweet, Blair. I'm sure I'd have a great time." 

"Well, I'm pretty sure I just heard the bus rumble past. That'll be Jim. I'd better get back. He'll worry if I'm not there when he gets home. Thanks for the coffee." 

"Well thank you for the bread. Hold on and let me transfer it to a plate so you can take your platter back." 

"Don't be silly. Bring the platter back later when you've finished the bread." 

"All right. Thank you." 

"Thank you. See you later." 

Blair shouted a good-bye to Bodie as well, and then I heard him walking casually back toward the house. By the time he finally arrived and came inside, I was in the kitchen, unpacking our supplies. 

"Hey." he said as he approached the kitchen and leaned on the counter to watch me work. 

I looked over my shoulder, smiled, and returned to my task. "Hey yourself." 

"I was over at Allison's. I made her a carrot bread." 

"Yeah, I heard you saying goodbye" 

"Were you eavesdropping?" 

"No, just checking to make sure you were okay." Well, it was only a little lie, really. "Miss Edith was very sad that you weren't at breakfast today." I said, changing the subject. 

"That makes two of us." 

"She couldn't stop asking about you. Didn't ask if I was okay. I don't know. I think I felt a little slighted." I said dryly. 

"You'll get over it." Blair said with a chuckle. 

I turned and handed Blair a mason jar full of a gelatinous, yellow substance. "She sent you a jar of her homemade pineapple preserves." 

"Oh man! I _love_ this stuff!" 

"Yes. She knows. So does half the island." I said with a grin. 

"I'm just expressive, that's all." Blair said with a pout. 

"Well, something like that." I said and I put the last of the supplies in the cabinet and shut it. Turning to Blair, I reached into the bottom of the bag and pulled out the last of its contents and held it out. 

"What is this?" Blair asked, looking down at the small, gift-wrapped package. 

"It's just something I found that I thought you might like. Open it." 

"You didn't have to get me anything." Blair said, his eyes wide with surprise and affection at the unexpected gesture. 

"Just shut up and open it, Sandburg." I growled, but there wasn't the slightest bit of anger behind the words. 

Blair smiled then carefully unwrapped the gift. I watched, ridiculously nervous, as he pulled the paper off of a little book. When he realized what it was, Blair turned the tome over and ran his hand across the worn, cracked, leather cover and binding. Reverently, he opened the book to read the title page; "The Guardian of St. Sebastian." It wasn't a thick book, and it had a number of roughly drawn illustrations. The shop clerk had told me it was really for a school-age child. 

Blair's mouth dropped open as he studied a couple of pages. "Jim, do you know what this is?" 

"I know what it looks like." 

"Where....where in the world did you get this?" 

"At a used bookstore off on a side street from the town square. It was pretty well hidden, still I'm amazed neither of us found it before. Anyway, I walked in and started looking around and I found this hidden in a dusty corner. The shop owner says it's a local legend about a warrior who used special powers given him by the gods, to protect his people from slave traders who came to the island in the 19th century. Myth had it that the guardian could tell that they were coming long before anyone else could and that allowed him to give sufficient warning to the island's residents to get them hidden in caves up in the hills. Then he, along with a faithful companion, would use their special skills to keep watch and set traps. They were so good at what they did, that eventually the island developed a reputation for being cursed, and slave traders avoided it at all cost. Because of them, not one person from this island was ever captured." 

"My god, Jim. Is it a true story?" 

"The shopkeeper said it's just local lore. Most people don't actually believe it. He said most history books state that St. Sebastian was largely overlooked by the slave trade because it was so tiny and so far off the established shipping routes that it escaped discovery for a long time. By the time it was discovered, the trade was dying off, and it wasn't worth the effort. Nevertheless, the story has survived all this time because parents like to tell it to their children." 

"This..." Blair stopped, choked up a bit. "Jesus, Jim, this is amazing. Thank you." 

Blair came around the counter and threw his arms around me, holding me tightly. 

"Thank you, man." he said again. 

"I'm glad you like it, Chief." I said, absurdly pleased by his happiness. 

"I'm gonna go read it." he said excitedly. 

"Good. While you do that, I'll make us some lunch. 

Blair rushed out to the terrace and seated himself in one of the deck chairs while I set about making lunch. We were going to have lamb chops. We hadn't eaten much red meat since arriving on the island. It was hard to keep it fresh on the long ride back from the city, and once we got it home, between the ancient little refrigerator and the sporadic electricity, keeping the meat from spoiling was a challenge. Besides, since all we had to do was walk outside our door and catch the freshest, most delicious fish imaginable, that had pretty much become our staple. But I'd spotted these perfect little lamb chops at the butcher shop, and my nose told me that they were incredibly fresh, likely having been butchered just that morning. And my mouth had been watering for some red meat. When I discovered that the butcher had some dry ice left over from a recent shipment, it seemed like fate. I'd chosen several of the best chops in the store, had the butcher wrap them carefully and pack them in a bag of dry ice for the trip home. They'd kept perfectly, and I thought it best to eat them immediately. 

I set the chops to marinate in some olive oil, garlic, lemon juice, and a little bit of oregano from Blair's garden. Then I went out to the back yard to the open pit where we often cooked our meals over an open fire, particularly when it was very hot. I got the fire started, and while the coals reached the proper temperature, I returned to the house and made a salad of cucumbers, tomatoes, and feta cheese in a little olive oil, vinegar, and herbs. Then I set out some fresh baked bread that I'd also bought that morning. When the coals were ready, I wrapped a few potatoes in foil and tossed them in, and a bit later, I brought the chops out and grilled them to a perfect medium rare. With our feast laid out on the table, I went out to the terrace to retrieve Blair. I found him sitting on the terrace railing, clutching the book to his chest, staring at the sea. 

"Chief?" 

Blair turned to me and smiled. 

"It's such a beautiful story. Even if it weren't about a sentinel, it would be incredible. Thank you so much, Jim. I'm going to treasure this forever." Blair said and he rushed forward and threw his arms around me. 

I held Blair close, painfully aware of the warmth of his body. He looked up at me then, and I couldn't help thinking that his eyes had never looked so blue. He moved in close and it was readily apparent what was about to happen, but before our lips could connect, I pulled back. I could feel my cheeks flushing crimson. 

"Ahm, lunch is ready. We... we should eat before it gets cold." I stammered. 

A bit of something flashed through Blair's eyes. What was it? Disappointment? Embarrassment? 

"I'm sorry, Blair. I..." 

"No, it's all right, Jim. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I guess I was just excited because of the gift. I wasn't thinking." 

"No, you have a right, I mean, this is supposed to be a relationship and I haven't ...." 

"Jim, when you're ready, not a moment before. Okay? That's what I said and that's what I meant. So, let's go eat. It smells great and I'm starved." Blair said with the best smile he could manage and he walked into the house. 

We ate lunch companionably, but the rest of the day was quiet. Blair had unknowingly unleashed something with his failed attempt to kiss me, something that I hadn't been ready to deal with, but that I couldn't put off any longer. We'd been on this island over two months and hadn't been the least bit intimate. So I needed to think about where I wanted this relationship to go and how fast it was going to get there. I owed Blair at least that much. 

We went to bed that night without addressing the unspoken, but very present issue that had been raised. The next morning, things were much the same. For the most part, we went about our regular routines. Blair made breakfast for us both then went for a jog on the beach while I puttered around the house. He didn't put any pressure on me, but I knew that he was watching me, waiting for me to get my act together. As I sorted through my own feelings, I wondered what was going through his mind, whether he was worried or concerned. I had to give him credit because he seemed perfectly calm - he didn't even smell nervous - but I knew that looks could be deceiving because patience had never been one of his virtues. 

By evening, I'd had enough of the four walls and I went for a walk down the beach while Blair made our dinner. I came across Allison as I made my way down the beach. She said she was feeling a bit under the weather and asked if I minded taking Bodie with me, so he could get in his evening walk. I gave her the Sentinel once over, and she did look a bit pale, and perhaps thinner than usual, but otherwise she seemed all right. So I agreed and took Bodie with me and I was glad; he was excellent company. A ways down the sand, I found a good-sized stick and began to toss it back and forth. The dog ate it up, loving the action of running and retrieving the stick over and over again. 

The motion was meditative for me and I welcomed the release of the simply physical activity. With the amount of energy I'd expended on this whole matter, you'd have thought I was trying to figure out a cure for cancer, rather than simply deciding what I wanted out of a relationship with a man I'd already admitted I couldn't live without. It should have been easy, but then I'd never been one to make things easy on myself. 

I couldn't help thinking that here I was hurtling toward 40 and only just realizing that I was gay. It'd be hysterical if it weren't so fucking tragic. It made me wonder if anything I ever thought I knew about myself was true. And if I couldn't trust everything I'd ever known about myself all these years, how could I trust what my heart was telling me now? But maybe that was the answer. You see, all my life, I'd listened to my head and not my heart. I hadn't been able to listen to my heart because I'd kept it silenced under lock and key. But Blair had broken down the barrier and it was screaming at me now, demanding to be heard. It was telling me that of all the fuck ups in my entire life, letting Blair slip through my fingers would be the biggest. 

But then, not being with Blair had never really been an option. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that what had really been holding me back was coming to terms with the whole image of myself as a gay man. I'd never consciously set about trying to portray any particular image, but I knew how I was perceived. I was Jim Ellison, ex army ranger, super cop, blond haired, blue-eyed, hard body, a poster boy for all-American macho heterosexuality. Now, after all this time, I was taking a complete 180-degree turn. How would that be received? What would be the ramifications? 

When I'd reached the end of the little cove, I sat down on the sand. Ever perceptive, Bodie seemed to realize that I needed a moment of quiet contemplation and he settled himself quietly next to me. After a while, I could smell that dinner was nearly ready. It was a simple meal; some fish Blair had caught that morning, baked with some fresh vegetables (tomatoes and fennel, by the smell of it) and herbs, along with steamed squash and homemade flatbread. It smelled great, but truth be told, I wasn't all that hungry. I'd made a decision and I had other things on my mind. 

As Bodie and I made our way back up the beach toward the little cottage, I heard the low grade buzz and felt the little charge, and noticed the lights in the hills flicker out. It was yet another power outage. Dusk had just fallen, so it wasn't completely dark yet, and I didn't even need to dial up my sight all that much. I broke into a little jog as we neared the house, romping back and forth with Bodie while he nipped at my heels, going into one last frenzy of fetching. By the time we made it back to the cottage, Bodie was clearly ready for more, but I was ready to call it a night. I could see Blair standing on the terrace watching us. Backlit by the golden hue of the many candles burning inside the house, he looked beautiful, serene. I laid the stick down and Bodie stared up at me expectantly, his big brown eyes pleading to continue the game. 

"Nope, that's it, go on home, Bodie." I said firmly. 

The dog continued to stare at me. 

"I mean it, go home. Go on. We'll play tomorrow. Go on." 

The dog turned tentatively and took a few steps in the direction of his home, then turned back to me. 

"Go on. Allison's probably wondering where you are." 

The dog trotted off and disappeared down the beach. Blair couldn't stifle his smile as I climbed the front steps. "Allison's going to report you for dog-napping." he said. 

"She knew he was with me. I passed her on my way down the beach and she asked if I'd take him with me. Said she was feeling under the weather and didn't have the energy to take him on his evening walk." 

"She okay?" Blair asked, genuinely concerned. 

"She looked a little tired, but said she was fine and just needed a little rest." 

"I'll have to stop by tomorrow and check in on her, maybe bring her some soup, she might not feel like cooking." 

"That's a good idea." I said softly, studying every detail of my oh-so-thoughtful partner. 

"Blair," 

I heard him hold his breath, waiting for what I had to say next. 

"I am sorry for taking so long, for being indecisive, for leaving you hanging the way I have. That's not fair to you. You've been more than patient." 

"There's no deadline here, Jim. I'm not rushing you." Blair managed, and I was pretty impressed that he'd gotten that out, because as far as I could tell, he still hadn't taken a breath. 

I moved closer and he sat back on the railing. His eyes were huge in the moonlight, and he was clearly waiting for a sign as to where we were going, so I made my intentions perfectly clear. I reached out and ran my fingers down his bare arm, feeling a trail of goose pimples rise in my wake, then I twined my fingers with his. 

"Dinner smells great." I said as I leaned forward. 

"Th - Thanks." Blair stammered, his lips mere inches away from mine. 

"I'm not really hungry though." I murmured. 

"Oh. Okay." 

And then our lips met. It was our first real kiss since that horrible day after he had saved me, and it was amazing. When we finally separated, Blair exhaled, finally, and looked up at me. 

"Dinner will keep." he managed. 

"Good." I said and I kissed him once again. Then I pulled away and took both of his hands in mine. "I - I've never...." I began. 

"I know. It's okay, Jim. We'll take it nice and slow, okay? Whatever you feel comfortable with." 

"Okay." 

Blair led me into the house and toward the bathroom. "Why don't we take a bath, clean up, relax a little." 

"Yeah. That sounds good." 

Blair lit a couple of candles in the bathroom then ran water in the old clawfoot tub and slipped the stopper into the drain. As the water level rose, he reached into the medicine cabinet and grabbed a bottle of scented oil that he had purchased from an old woman at the market. He opened the bottle and held it up for my approval; it was a fresh smelling mixture of local plant essences. 

"Okay?" 

"Yeah, perfect." I said and Blair smiled comfortingly. I knew he could hear the tremor in my voice; I was so nervous. 

Blair nodded and poured a bit into the rising water, then turned back to me. "Get undressed and get comfortable. I just want to put dinner away and get things ready, okay?" 

I nodded and with a pat on the shoulder, Blair left me in the bathroom. As I stepped out of my clothes and slid into the warm, rising water, I could hear Blair rushing through the house. First he went into the kitchen, wrapped up dinner, and put it into the refrigerator. Before he left the kitchen, he grabbed something out of the cabinet and one of the drawers, and set them on the dining table before he made his way to the armoire where his belongings were stored. I could hear him rustling through his duffle bag, and pulling something out with a triumphant little aha and depositing it on the dining table as well. Then, he moved to the bedroom and there was a little flash and a wave of sulfur wafted through the room, and then I could smell beeswax and vanilla and I smiled; Blair knew the scent of vanilla calmed me down. 

With the tub finally full, I turned off the water and shouted to my wayward partner. "Hey, Chief, what're you doing? The water's gonna get cold." 

"Coming...." Blair hollered. 

I heard his scuffling feet as he ran back toward the bathroom, stopping to collect whatever it was he'd deposited in the dining room on the way. Then he was in the doorway with a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a corkscrew clutched in both hands. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide as he looked at me. 

"I was starting to worry." 

"No worries. Blair said after a minute, "I was just making sure everything was perfect. I brought some wine. I brought it with me from Cascade, in anticipation of a special occasion. I'd say this counts. Wouldn't you?" 

I nodded and Blair set the glasses down on the edge of the sink and opened the bottle. He poured two glasses and handed them both to me; I set them on the window ledge and then turned back to my soon-to-be lover. And as Blair unbuttoned his shirt, a visible calm came over him, and I wished I knew what he was thinking. Personally, even though I was nervous, I knew that Blair and I were right, that we were meant to be. Nothing had ever felt so right before. 

Blair's shirt fell to the cool tile floor, quickly followed by shorts and briefs and my eyes must have been burning him like lasers. Damn he was beautiful. He walked to the tub and eased in behind me, a leg on either side of mine. Then pulled me to lean back against him and picked up a sponge and began to wash my chest. I sighed and rested against him and he kissed the back of my neck, softly. 

"What made you finally decide?" he asked. 

"I don't know." I began, then I stopped because that wasn't true and this was the time for truthfulness. "No, I do know. I almost lost you last week, and I couldn't stop thinking about that, couldn't imagine how I would have survived if...... And then I kept thinking about my mom. With everything in the world against her, she had the courage to follow her heart. It seemed pretty chicken-shit for me to not follow mine. Especially since I do want this, more than anything." 

"I love you." Blair whispered in my ear as he washed the dust and sand of the day from my body. "I've loved you forever. I've waited for you forever." 

I sighed again and relaxed into Blair. He finished rinsing me off and handed me one of the glasses of wine. For a long time we sat quietly, cherishing each other's presence and my momentous decision, knowing that there was no going back after this. Knowing that we didn't want to go back. 

After a while, when the water began to cool and the ocean breeze chilled our skin, Blair drained his glass, planted another kiss on my neck and stood. He stepped out of the tub and grabbed a towel. Quickly he dried himself, then dried me when I stepped from the tub, lingering over my chest, before trailing down to touch my cock for the first time. I shivered at that, then leaned down and kissed him. 

"I love you, too." I whispered. "So much." 

I pulled Blair close then, and suddenly I was shaking as the gravity of what we were about to do, and what this meant for our relationship, really hit me. Blair tightened his hold on me, tried as best he could to calm me. 

"I'm afraid." I whispered, unable to hide the hysteria in my voice. 

"Nothing to be afraid of, man." Blair reassured. "It's just me and you. We don't do anything you're not comfortable with." 

"No, not of that. Of us. Of this. Of ruining this. I don't know how to have a successful relationship. I don't know if I can. I'm afraid of losing you." The words poured out. I was positively panicked. 

Blair pulled back and looked me in the eye. "You can't lose me, Jim. It's not gonna happen. It's impossible. I'm not leaving unless you tell me to go. And maybe not even then." 

"Promise." I said desperately. 

"I promise." 

"Because I couldn't take it, Blair. I couldn't." 

"I promise." Blair said again, more firmly. And I don't know if he used the guide voice, but something about the way he spoke, calmed my fears. I knew he meant what he said. I nodded and then he kissed me again and took me by the hand and led me into the bedroom. 

And it was a magical scene we came upon. The candles Blair had lit were casting a lovely golden hue on the simple white walls. Since the area was so remote that being seen was not a concern, Blair had left the French doors open and the resulting breeze was causing the gauzy white curtains to billow and undulate and cast enchanted shadows in the mixed moon and candlelight. The intoxicating scents of salt air and vanilla wafted on the intermittent breeze. Beyond the terrace, the sound of the crashing waves and symphony of crickets were the soundtrack for the night and the impossibly bright moon and stars in the inky black canvas of the sky almost made the candles unnecessary. 

Blair lay across the bed and extended his hand, inviting me to join him. Nervously, I stretched out next to him on the crisp white sheets. He leaned over and kissed me again, running his hand down my side and over my hip. I was receptive, kissing him back hungrily, but my hands moved restlessly at my side; I didn't know what to do with them. Blair rose up and stared down at me. 

"Jim, what's wrong?" 

"I.... I don't..." I began and then I huffed a sigh and sat up, moving to sit at the edge of the bed. I felt like a complete moron. 

"Jim," Blair said in surprise, reaching for me. 

"I don't know how to do this." I said in frustration, my back to him. 

Blair chuckled and grabbed me by the arm. "Get back over here, Mr. Alpha-Male-I-Don't-Want-To-Do-Anything-If-I-Can't-Do-It-Perfectly." 

Reluctantly, I stretched out once again next to my partner, looking gloomily into sapphire eyes that sparkled with mirth. 

"Making love is making love; you know what to do. If it helps, you can think of me as an Amazonian, red-headed, drug trafficker with large breasts and a 9 mil strapped to my thigh." Blair quipped. 

"I don't want that." I sulked. 

"Would it help if I talked like this?" Blair asked in a falsetto that was a poor imitation of a female voice. 

I snorted in disgust. "No. I don't want that!" I exclaimed again vehemently. "I don't want to think about some woman. I want you. I just don't.... I don't know how to make love to a man." I said miserably. 

Blair's smile softened and his eyes positively glowed with the magnitude of his feelings as he reached down and took my hand and led it to his chest. I loved him to death for his patience and understanding, but I couldn't help thinking that this was weird; it seemed like a complete roll reversal for us. I had always been the one to take the lead, the one in control in our partnership. After all, I was bigger, and older, and genetically designed to be the alpha male, it only seemed natural. But, this time it was Blair I was looking to to show me what to do, how to do it, looking to him for guidance like a virgin bride on her wedding night. 

"It's okay, Jim. Start by relaxing, all right? There are no rules here. You can't do anything wrong." he whispered and he leaned forward and kissed me again. "Just do whatever feels good. If it feels good, it's right." 

Blair moved over me then, lying on top of me, letting me feel his full weight from chest to toe. And as he bowed his head and devoured me once again, I could taste the wine we'd just drunken along with a hint of mango that we'd shared before I left on my walk. As he continued the sweet assault, I mustered enough courage to tentatively move my hands across his back and then down to clutch his ass, squeezing firmly. Each cheek filled a hand perfectly; it felt fabulous. Blair smiled as he rose up over me, "See, the parts may not all be the same, but it's not so different from being with a woman." 

"No, it is different." I said, seriously. "It's completely different. Because I've never loved any woman, any _person_ , the way I love you." 

Blair's breath caught in his throat at my heartfelt declaration, and his eyes filled with tears. I knew that he knew exactly what I meant. This was so totally different than any other sexual experience that I'd ever had before. The emotion was almost too much; I felt like it might just swallow us both whole, because surely two people couldn't feel so much and still function. 

We devoured each other then, like starving men who had never seen food. And as Blair kissed me, I knew that he was doing everything he could to show me what he felt, and I tried to do the same. I wanted him to know that there was nothing and no one in the world as important to me as he was, and that there never could be. We moved together, moaning brokenly as our cocks touched for the first time and slid together, slick with precome. We ground our pelvises together almost violently and the sensation was like nothing I'd ever felt before. Not like being inside a woman, feeling the hot, silky grasp of her cunt, not like the feel of my own hand, not like _anything_ else. 

I felt the sweat dripping down the side of my face, and my thighs clenched almost painfully as I tried to feel more, to get closer. Hell, I would have crawled inside him if I could have. And the pleasure built in increments until I was holding my breath, standing on the edge of a precipice. And I could have stayed in that place forever, where it was just Blair and I and nothing and no one else mattered, but it was too good and we'd both waited too long for it to last. 

"Come for me, Jim." Blair whispered as he continued to thrust. His voice was thick, and low, and intense. 

"Blair...." I moaned, and I'm surprised I managed that much because I was gasping like an asthmatic. 

"Yeah,.... yeah...." Blair breathed hard, barely managing to talk between his own gasping for breaths and the ravenous kisses he rained across my ear, my neck, my face. "Oh, jesus, Jim.....you're so beautiful... so fucking beautiful.....let me see you come." 

"Oh.... oh, god..... Blair!" 

I reared up then, every muscle in my body so taught that I thought I might shatter into a million pieces. My stomach clenched and I held my breath as the pleasure rolled through me from the tip of my toes, to the top of my head, like a wave. And I cried out and clutched Blair tightly as wet heat flooded between us. Before long, he joined me, shouting my name as he came, too. And then I was so exhausted, I felt like I could slip into a coma. Wearily, Blair rolled off me, cleaned us both with a corner of the sheet, and then pulled the sheets over us. Spooned together, we drifted into a sated, happy sleep. 

oOo 

I'd been a little pre-occupied, so I hadn't put on my sleep mask the night before and I woke with the first bit of sunlight that came shining into the house. The first thing I became aware of were Blair's strong arms wrapped around me and I remembered the night before and thought my heart might explode on the spot. I'd never, and I mean never, in all my life felt happiness like this. I didn't even know it was possible. 

It was still early and Blair was sleeping soundly, so I just watched him, feasting my eyes on his beauty. A smile touched my lips then, because the average person looking at Blair at that moment might not feel quite the same. The younger man's hair was a riot on the pillow, already frizzing in the moist sea air, his face was covered with dark morning stubble, and his mouth was open slightly and he was drooling just a bit onto the pillowcase. But to me, he was the most beautiful sight in the world. Not only beautiful physically, but on the inside as well. Selfless, intelligent, caring, so full of love, he was the most beautiful person I had ever known, inside or out. He called me his blessed protector, but he was the one that I was indebted to. He had saved my life so many times I had lost count. Blair had kept me from a padded cell when my senses kicked in, kept me from stewing in my loneliness in that huge empty loft for the last four years, he'd been there to pick up the pieces after every disastrous relationship, after every betrayal, every loss. He looked after me like no one else ever had. Certainly Carolyn had never been concerned about the mundane aspects of every day life, like making sure I ate right and got enough sleep. We'd both been so intent on our careers, and our marriage had been so short, that we never really reached that stage. For the better part of our marriage, we were basically ships that passed in the night, meeting for the occasional dinner, the occasional weekend away, the occasional roll between the sheets. 

Without even realizing it, I tightened my hold on Blair. I never wanted the moment to end. I never wanted to go back to the person I'd been before. I didn't want to be that lost, desperately lonely, empty, hopeless person who felt that blowing his head off on the top of a secluded bluff was the only answer. 

After a moment, Blair stirred and those amazing deep blue eyes opened and looked up at me. He stretched a little in my arms and smiled. Bowing his head, he kissed my nipple and I moaned at the sensation. Then Blair looked up at me. I dipped my head to kiss him and he pulled back. 

"Morning breath, man." he murmured. "Let me brush my teeth first." 

I snorted at that and pulled him close for a deep kiss. When we'd separated, Blair rolled on top of me. 

"So, no regrets?" 

"Never." 

"Good. Me neither." 

"When will we.... I mean, how long before we, uhm...." I began, but I was too embarrassed to finish the question. 

Blair laughed. "Last night you don't know where to put your hands, now you want to go all the way?" He traced a finger across my clavicle, then looked up at me, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "There's plenty of time for that. Let's take it one step at a time, okay? There are so many ways to make love, Jim. I've spent the last four years imagining a million different things we can do. And believe me, I plan for us to try every single one. All in good time." 

He kissed me again and then began to move down my body, kissing my chest, teasing my nipples, licking patterns around my navel. And then Blair moved lower and I shivered as he planted butterfly kisses along the inside of my thighs. And then those strong, capable, caring hands were wrapped around my cock, which was rapidly expressing its interest, and he put his mouth on me and I thought I might jump right off the bed. 

"Oh, fuck." I ground out as I closed my eyes and arched up 

Blair pushed me back down, held me steady, and calmed me with soothing caresses across my right hip as his talented mouth worked me. The sensation was indescribable. It was hot and wet and tight. It was heaven; it was everything. It was better than heaven. And I was hurtling down the path toward a surefire zone, when that amazing feeling ceased and I heard Blair's voice. 

"No zoning, man. Stay with me." 

Unable to speak, I nodded shakily, hoping that would be enough to make Blair start again. 

"I mean it." Blair said firmly, and I could feel his hand sliding down my flank and then I yelped in surprise when I felt a sudden sharp pain in one butt cheek; he had actually pinched my ass. I couldn't believe it. I came back to myself enough to glare down at my lover, and I saw the younger man's wicked smile. "Just wanted to make sure I had your attention. Now. No zoning. Don't focus so heavily on the feeling. Dial it down a little." 

"I don't think I can." I managed. 

"Yes, you can." Blair insisted. "You just need to bring some other senses into the mix so you don't' focus too heavily on touch. So I want you to listen to me. Dial up your hearing a bit and listen to my heart beating. Listen to the sound of our love." 

I followed Blair's instructions as he dipped his head and went back to his task. I heard the displacement of the air as we moved, heard my lover's heart pounding eagerly in his chest, heard the rush of blood through our veins, and then I heard the sound of a wet tongue sliding across my flesh and the combination of the sound and the feeling almost undid me. Then I heard Blair's voice again. 

"Open your eyes, Jim. Watch me. Watch me loving you." he said huskily. 

And I hadn't even realized that my eyes were closed, but I managed to pry them open and saw Blair staring at me intently, holding my gaze as he dipped his head and took me back into his mouth. And I sure wasn't about to zone, but it was too much; I couldn't handle it. I groaned loudly and soon I was shaking and coming hard. 

And as I tried to bring myself under control, I was vaguely aware of Blair catching my come in his hands and when I came back to myself, I saw him rubbing it all over his erection; it was the hottest fucking thing I think I'd ever seen in my life. Then he turned me over and moved up over me. And I felt his cock slide into the cleft of my ass, his strong arms wrap around my chest, and his hot mouth on the back of my neck. And Blair was humping me hard and fast, moaning as he rubbed his slick, hot cock between my ass cheeks until he was coming too. 

And god damn it, it was good. It was the best thing ever. How could I have ever been afraid of this? 

oOo 

The smell of fresh brewed coffee greeted me when I emerged from the bathroom, bathed, shaved, and smelling of soap and minty toothpaste. I made my way to the kitchen, where Blair greeted me with a spine tingling kiss then handed me a cup of coffee. I smiled and took a sip. 

"Mmmm, delicious." 

"Which one, me or the coffee?" 

"Both." I said and I leaned in for another kiss. 

As I devoured his delicious mouth, I felt heady with joy. The closest I had ever come to feeling this way before, was during the first days of my marriage to Carolyn. At that stage, I was still hopeful that I had finally found someone who understood me, someone to share my life with. And I was still able to ignore the nagging voice in the back of my head that kept telling me that the whole thing was a huge mistake. Don't get me wrong, I did love Carolyn, God bless her, but not in the way I should have. We had no business getting married. If you asked her, I'm fairly certain she'd say the same. 

"Well, there's plenty more where that came from." Blair said when we finally pulled apart. 

"What, you or the coffee?" 

"Both." Blair said with a grin and he pulled me forward and wrapped his arms around me and began to kiss me with real determination. I guess the first had just been a warm up. 

Just as things were really heating up, a sound filtered into my consciousness. Still distant, I could hear footsteps across the sand, both human and animal. And I heard Allison's melodic voice chastising Bodie for bothering a poor sand crab, and calling him to her side as the footsteps grew closer. And I remembered, as a sudden panic at being discovered in a clench with my very male lover gripped me, that this was what I had been afraid of. I pushed Blair away. 

"Cool it!" I hissed and I grabbed my cup and moved quickly toward the living room and sat on the sofa. 

Blair stared at me, puzzled as to what had just happened, when suddenly Bodie ran into the house and Allison's voice shouted a greeting from outside. 

"Hello!" she said as she approached the front door. 

"Hey, Allison." I said, rising from my seat to greet her while studiously avoiding the hurt stare that Blair was directing my way. 

"I'm returning the platter that Blair brought over the other day." Allison said, handing the colorful pottery dish to me. 

"Oh, thanks." I said, taking the dish. 

"Look, Blair, Allison brought the platter back." I said, walking toward the kitchen while still avoiding his accusing eyes. 

"Ahm, thanks a bunch, Allison." Blair finally said, managing a smile for the young woman. "I just made coffee, would you care for a cup?" 

"No, I've gotta catch the bus and head into town. It should be along any time now, so I'd better get going. I just wanted to drop that off on my way." 

"Well, thanks again." Blair said. 

"I'll see you later." she said and she turned to leave, calling after Bodie. "Come on, Bodie. You go home. Don't bother Jim and Blair." 

"That's all right, Allison." I said, moving past Blair back toward the door. "We don't mind if he hangs out with us while you're gone." 

"Well, if it's not a bother." 

"No, not at all. We like having him around. Take your time. You can stop back and pick him up on your return, or we'll send him home later." 

"All right. Thanks." Allison said, and with a wave she walked up the path toward the road. 

Bodie settled himself contentedly on the terrace and I turned back to the house. When I entered, I saw Blair standing there staring at me. The hurt in his eyes spoke volumes. 

"What?" I asked defensively, but I knew perfectly well what I had done. 

"What was that all about?" he asked softly, evenly. 

"I'm a cop, Blair. You can't expect me to go around shouting to the world that I'm gay. Cops that come out tend to have tragic accidents, usually involving back up that doesn't quite arrive on time." 

The excuse sounded lame, even to me. 

"Yeah, that's true." Blair said slowly, controlling his anger. "Except that you're not at work right now. Hell, we're barely in the same hemisphere as the Cascade PD. So I'm gonna ask you again, what was that about?" 

"You can't just expect me to - " 

"Are you ashamed of us?" Blair interrupted. 

"No! I'm not ashamed!" I insisted, but I wasn't as sure as my denial sounded. I struggled to find a logical explanation that didn't make me look like a complete jackass. "It's just that.... fuck, Blair, this isn't easy for me. I'm not used to defining myself this way." 

Hey, that was pretty good. Blair even seemed to accept it. 

"Fair enough, Jim. But there's no need to hide behind some faade around Allison. She already knows about us." 

That statement hit me hard. Someone knew about us? Someone thought of me as gay? 

"You told her?" I asked incredulously. 

"Excuse me! She asked and I didn't get the memo saying that this was supposed to be kept top secret!" Blair shouted irritatedly. 

"Jesus, Blair!" 

"Jesus what, Jim? What is wrong with me telling Allison about us?" 

"That's private. It's none of her business. I..." I stopped and took a deep breath. This news had thrown me off balance far more than I would have imagined. I was really annoyed with Blair for revealing our secret. Even though, to be fair to him, he was right, I'd never told him that there was a secret to be kept. I fumed, raked a hand across my head, and paced in the small confines of the room. 

"I don't want people looking at me differently, treating me differently. I've been a freak my entire life. I'd like to be normal just once." I finally said, and whew, there it was. I hadn't known I was going to say that, but there it was. 

But the minute the words left my mouth, Blair's eyebrows nearly raised to his hairline, then narrowed dangerously and I knew that I'd just made a very big mistake. 

"A freak? Loving me makes you a freak?" 

"No, I didn't mean it like that," I began. 

"Well, just what did you mean, exactly? Because I don't know of a good way to interpret that statement, Jim." 

"I - " 

"Is this the way things are gonna be?" Blair continued angrily, not even allowing me to reply. "Are we going to spend the rest of our lives hiding behind closed doors and drawn curtains? I mean, if we can't be honest about who we are 3000 miles from home, what's gonna happen when we return to Cascade? Because I gotta tell you, man, I don't _do_ closets." 

I don't know why, but my own anger flared then. I felt like a caged animal backed into a corner, and I responded accordingly. "Great, when we go home then, I'll just address the station during the next open assembly, and let them know exactly what we do in our bedroom. Happy now?" 

"For god's sake, Jim. I'm not asking you to show up at the station in a dress and high heels! There's a difference between being discreet and being dishonest." 

"Well, you're the academic and I'm just the big, dumb cop. So why don't you explain it to me, Professor? You'd better use small words so I can understand." I said, and I could hear the nasty, sarcastic tone and the small, sensible part of my brain that was left cringed and cried out for me to stop now before I went too far. 

"Our private life is just that. No one at the station has the right to know what we do behind closed doors, anymore than they had the right to know what you and Carolyn did when you went home at night. But we have friends at that station, Jim. People who have been good to us separate and apart from work. I'm talking about Simon and Joel, and Megan. And we've got other friends, and family, people who are a part of our lives, who would protect us, who've earned our trust. You want us to keep all of them in the dark? What am I supposed to tell Naomi the next time I talk to her?" 

I wanted so desperately not to do this now, not after we'd been so close the night before. Give me an out, Blair. Please give me an out, I thought desperately. "Why do we have to make that decision now? Why can't we just enjoy our vacation and deal with that later? Why do you have to make everything into a federal case?" I demanded sullenly. 

I gave him the opportunity to give me the out, but he would have none of it. 

"We've got a big, fucking, pink elephant right in the middle of our living room, Jim. We have to deal with it. We can't just ignore it and let this thing fester." 

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Suddenly my head was throbbing, and the fight or flight instinct was as strong as ever. I chose flight. "I don't want to deal with this right now." I said and I turned and headed toward the bedroom. 

"That's right." Blair said as he tossed up his hands in frustration. "Run away. That's a coping mechanism that's worked so well for you in the past; I can see why you'd want to go back to it." 

God damn it. Why couldn't he have let me have the out? 

In a minimum of angry, determined strides, I turned and crossed the room until I was right in Blair's face. "What the fuck do you want from me, Sandburg?" I ground out. 

"We can't build a relationship on lies, Jim. I don't want to lie to our friends and family. I can't live that way." 

And the wounded, frightened animal in the corner lashed out. It was inevitable, really. "And what if I say I don't give a rat's ass what you want?" 

Ooops. Fuck. The minute the words died in the air, I knew that I hadn't just crossed the line; I'd obliterated it. Why couldn't he have just let me have the out? Damn him! He should have known that I'd shove my size twelves firmly into my mouth if he kept pushing me. 

Fury flared behind Blair's eyes, darkening them to almost black. "I _may_ have let you get away with pushing me around _sometimes_ when we were just roommates, Jim." he began and he shoved a hard finger into my chest. I winced inwardly, but I wouldn't give him the pleasure of knowing that he'd hurt me. Besides, my pain would subside soon enough, I think my words had inflicted a much more lasting damage. "But if we're going to have a relationship, you will _not_ order me around or disrespect my opinion! If we're going to do this, it's going to be an equal partnership. If you think otherwise, then you'd better think again." 

With that, Blair angrily grabbed his towel and a book and stormed outside. Stunned by the rare, but not undeserved, display of anger from my guide, I stood a moment, processing what had happened, then moved mechanically to the terrace and sat on one of the deck chairs. Several yards away, Blair tossed his towel and book down on the sand, then turned and began jogging down the beach. Ever since the riptide incident, Blair had abandoned his daily swim in favor of a run. I watched silently, sullenly, as he ran the length of the little cove, then turned and retraced his tracks. Meanwhile, Bodie sat contentedly at my feet and sucked up for attention from time to time, content with a few distracted scratches behind the ears. 

After jogging for about a half an hour, Blair made his way back to his towel, removed his t-shirt and waded into the surf knee deep. He sat then, allowing several waves to wash over him. That was as far into the water as he would venture alone these days. After a few minutes in the water, Blair stood and walked back to his towel. I couldn't miss the brooding look directed my way before he plopped down, put on his sunglasses, and began reading his book. 

I wasn't sure how long we sat like that, me on the terrace and Blair on the beach, but it felt like forever. Finally, Blair stood, collected his things and moved back toward the house. But he didn't come inside. Instead, with another glower at me, he walked right past the terrace and around to the back yard. 

I stared stonily ahead, trying not to listen to the angry voice inside my head that kept screaming that I'd fucked up again, just like I always did, and in record time, this time. Surely there must be some sort of medal for that. And why in the world had I ever dared to think that this time would be any different than any of the others? Stone-faced, I sat as my hearing kicked in and I heard the sound of Blair tossing his towel on the clothesline, grabbing a clean towel, and turning on the shower. 

With a sigh, I rose, walked through the house, and out the back door. It was probably too late by a long shot, but I had to at least try, somehow, to set things right. I crossed the little yard and stood in front of the shower where Blair was shampooing his hair. After a minute, he glanced over his shoulder at me, then turned back to his shower and continued rinsing his hair. I had to bite my lip to keep from sobbing at the apparent rejection. 

"Well," Blair said without turning around after another long minute. "don't just stand there. Get naked and get your ass in here." 

I didn't know what he meant, but my body wasn't going to wait for my pathetic little brain to ponder the meaning of the invitation. Moving on pure instinct, I quickly shucked my clothes and joined my partner in the shower. As I stepped onto the cool tile, Blair turned and took me into his arms. I almost bawled from the relief that washed over me along with the peppery spray of the water. I held onto Blair for all he was worth, and after a minute, he looked up and kissed me. I groaned at the soft press of his lips against mine. Thank god, all was not lost. 

"I'm so sorry, I was a jerk." I breathed when we'd finally separated. 

"Yes, you were." Blair said softly. "But I was an even bigger one. Coming out is hard for everyone. It takes time to get used to this image of yourself, to deal with your fears, and to learn how to deal with other people's perceptions and prejudices. I've had 20 years to get used to it; you've had two months. I should have known better, but I'd forgotten. I'm sorry for being so hard on you." 

"I'm not ashamed of us. I'm not." At least not anymore, I thought. How could I possibly be ashamed of someone as amazing as Blair? How could I risk losing the most important person in my life because of what some small-minded bigot might think of me? What the hell was wrong with me? "I'm such a fuck up, Blair. Why do you put up with me?" 

"Because I love you." 

"I love you, too, and I don't want to lose you. You're the most important thing in my life, the most important thing ever." 

We held each other for a long time, and I savored the feeling of him in my arms. I wish the joy of that feeling had been enough to silence all those nasty little voices in my head, the ones that had been beating me down for as long as I could remember, but it wasn't, and the voices demanded answers. 

"Blair, I know what's in this for me. I just don't.... know what's in it for you. I don't know why you put up with me. I can't shake this feeling that you're going to realize what a mistake you've made. And I don't know what I would do if you left me." 

My face was absolutely crimson with shame. I'd never shown this side to anyone before, this small, insecure, weak as water side. I wondered if I looked as pathetic as I felt. 

Blair moved back a bit and stared me in the eye. "Is that what that little scene this morning was all about? You testing me, Jim? Seeing how much crap you can dish out before I bail?" 

"No." I said, quickly, but the denial lacked conviction, even to my ears. 

"You sure?" 

A long minute passed. Could he be right? "No." I admitted. 

"I told you last night, Jim. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here for the long haul." 

Blair pulled me closer, running a strong hand across my glutes. 

"You want to know what's in this for me?" 

I shook my head. 

"How about a man who loves me? That, alone, would be enough. But this man is more than just my lover; he's my best friend and my blessed protector. He's the most principled and honest man I know. He risks his own life every day to protect people he doesn't even know. He puts the needs of others before himself. And the cherry on the cake is that he looks like he just stepped off the cover of GQ. No one else has ever made me so hot. I thank god for him every single day. That's what's in this for me." 

I thought my heart might just explode with love, right on the spot. 

"Look, Jim," Blair continued. "I don't know much, but I know that there are gonna be some hard times. And there are gonna be some arguments. Given how stubborn we both are, there are gonna be some real doozies." 

I grinned despite myself. 

"I don't have to tell you that this path we've chosen isn't gonna be easy. But we can't beat each other up and we have to be honest with each other." 

"I want to be honest with you. I do." 

"So do it." Blair insisted. 

"Sometimes, I just don't know how to voice it, you know? It's like the fear pushes all the words right out of my head." I said, giving that honesty thing a try. It felt good, actually. 

"I know it's not easy for you. I understand that. But pushing me away isn't gonna make it any easier, Jim. You don't have to push me away first because you're afraid I'm about to do the same thing. I told you, that's not gonna happen." 

"Okay." I said with a genuine smile. 

"Good. Now, come over here and make love to me." Blair said huskily. And I always did what my guide told me. 

IV 

Santo Mateo - January, 1989 

Grace put the last of the tomatoes into her basket and looked up at the sky. She didn't like the looks of it, wasn't quite sure what the odd faint greenish tinge signified, but she knew she didn't like it. Rain was coming. That much was clear, but there was something else, too. She just didn't know what, couldn't seem to put her finger on it. Truth be told, she'd been feeling off all day. That was just one more reason to be concerned. With a resolve to keep a close watch on the weather, she turned and headed back toward her cabin. 

The little cabin wasn't much, just a simple two-room building constructed of logs and clay, with plenty of windows and a lovely little front deck. There were also two outbuildings, a kitchen and a bathroom, both of which were connected to the main house by a slightly raised, covered, wooden walkway. The Indians had helped them build it, and its simple furnishings, during their first year on the island. 

On the rest of their two acres, the women had created an impressive garden, with an array of fruit trees and all sorts of vegetables, including corn, which they both ate and ground into flour for a variety of other uses. In addition to their sizeable garden, the women kept several animals; a goat provided milk, several chickens provided fresh eggs, and a mule both assisted with hard labor and provided transportation when hitched to a two-wheeled cart. They'd been largely self-sufficient for more than a decade. 

It was a simple existence, with none of the modern comforts of their previous lives, and one that the two city-bred women found surprisingly comfortable. They never would have imagined when they first arrived on the island fifteen years earlier that they would adjust so easily. Granted, that never would have happened without the help of the Indians. They had been of invaluable assistance in that first year, and ever since. 

It was the old Indian, Jatai, who first told her what she was. A sentinel, he had called her. And he had explained about her senses and shown her ways to use them and, more importantly, to control them. He had said that Ingrid was a shamen, that every sentinel had to have one, and that it was her role to assist Grace in the use of her senses. He also told her that it was not all unusual for a sentinel and shamen to be mated together in light of the strong bond that formed between them. Consequently, the Indians did not think that the women's relationship was in any way wrong. 

Both Grace and Ingrid had grown to love all the Indians on the island and to regard them as family. And for all the friendship and assistance they provided, Grace never missed an opportunity to help them whenever and in whatever way she could. In return, the Indians provided friendship, advice, and assistance with all aspects of island life. And, most satisfyingly, they had driven the missionaries off the island long ago. It had been all well and good to have them close at hand to provide the odd service, medical treatments in particular. In exchange, they'd been willing to tolerate the repeated unsuccessful attempts to convert them to Christianity. But when Viv and Eugene began to insist that the Indians give up their long-held beliefs in the various gods and goddesses that provided so much bounty, and in particular, in this mythical creature called a sentinel, the Indians had had enough. They didn't need or want that influence around, and they didn't need the medical assistance enough - the traditional cures had always worked nearly as well as their colorful pills and potions anyway - to keep them around any longer. Though they never resorted to violence, they made the island a distinctly unwelcoming place for Eugene, Viv, and their family. Finally, the couple packed up their belongings and moved on to force their beliefs on some other poor group of unsuspecting souls in another part of the world. And so it was with particularly smug grins on their faces that Grace and Ingrid had gone down to the dock one day all those years ago and stood holding hands, and watching as the ferry carried their judges away. 

Yes, things had been very comfortable for the women for all these years, with one glaring exception, Grace's longing for her children and her guilt over leaving them, which had never gone away. It was always there, lurking in the background, making itself known no matter what else might be going on, like the pain of a chronic illness. 

Several years earlier, they had hired a private investigator to help them find Jim. He'd come of age, and they figured it was safe to try to talk to him. At least William wouldn't be able to stop them if he found out. But they had been disappointed to find out that Jim had joined the army and could not be located. The investigator told them that he suspected that Jim was involved in some sort of covert unit or top-secret assignment and he recommended trying again in a couple years when the tour of duty would likely have ended. They hadn't tried to reach Stephen at the time, as he was still underage and living in William's house. But they vowed to try again in a couple of years. By then, Stephen would be an adult as well, so they'd be able to take care of two birds with one stone. 

It was for that reason that Grace was a bit edgy that day. Ingrid had gone to the mainland to collect a package sent by the private investigator; they hoped it would contain all the instructions they needed to finally reconnect with the boys. Maybe that was why she saw the odd green tinge in the sky - her senses did sometimes play tricks on her when she was upset or nervous - and why she felt so uneasy. She'd feel better when Ingrid returned. 

In the small outbuilding that served as a kitchen, Grace arranged the perfectly ripe tomatoes in a bowl; they would make a lovely salad for their dinner. She started a fire in the brick stove and went into the little kitchen's larder to retrieve supplies and busied herself preparing each element of the meal. It had been hot that day, so they wouldn't want anything too heavy. 

As she made the preparations, Grace tried in vain to push down the almost overwhelming anticipation about what information the private investigator would uncover. Keeping busy was the only way to maintain some semblance of calm. By the time the corn tortillas were coming off the fire, her senses honed in on the sound of the ferry docking some two miles away at the island's little dock. It was right on time. 

Under normal circumstances, it would take Ingrid about a half an hour to make the trek to their home, but Grace sensed that something was different today. After a moment of concentration, she realized what it was, and that realization brought tears to her eyes that she didn't try to contain. Ingrid's gait was slower than normal, almost hesitant, and her heart was pounding, though not in a rhythm that signaled excitement. Rather, it had the distinctive pattern of fear and dread. And Grace didn't have to wait for Ingrid to arrive home to know that whatever news she brought couldn't have been good. If it had been, she would have rushed home, unable to mask her joy. And so, Grace tried desperately to steel herself for whatever lay ahead as she continued to prepare the simple meal. By the time she was done assembling the simple salad of tomatoes, assorted vegetables, and cheese, she was openly sobbing, and it had nothing to do with the onions in the salad. 

As she sniffled and rinsed her hands in a basin of water, Grace felt her lover's hand on her shoulder, and she turned to see that Ingrid, too, had been crying as she walked home. 

"What is it?" Grace asked anxiously, shakily. 

"Let's go inside and sit down. I'm afraid that none of the news is good." Ingrid said, using her most soothing tone of voice. 

Grace nodded, and turned to go inside without saying a word. But every instinct was telling her to scream, to run away. She knew her world was about to come crashing down around her. 

Inside the house, Grace sat on a chair covered with a colorful wool blanket. Ingrid knelt at her feet. After taking a deep breath, Ingrid got right to the point. There was no use in beating around the bush; this news couldn't be softened. "Grace, I'm afraid that Jamie passed away about a year ago." 

"No." Grace said softly, almost inaudibly, shaking her head. 

Ingrid took her hand firmly, supportively. "He was on a mission. The army won't say where; it was top-secret. The helicopter he was traveling on went down in dense vegetation. The wreckage was never found. No survivors could be located." 

"No..." Grace repeated again miserably. 

"The private investigator included a copy of Jim's obituary from the Cascade Tribune, and some photos of the memorial service." Ingrid said, glancing at the envelope she had set down on the side table. 

Grace squeezed her eyes shut against the fresh flood of tears, and her hand came up to cover her mouth in a vain attempt to hold back a cry of agony. 

Ingrid threw her arms around her partner, holding her close to comfort her. "I'm sorry, my love. I'm so sorry." she whispered. 

Within a matter of minutes, though, Grace pulled away, wiping her tears defiantly, forcing herself to calm. 

"What about Stephen?" she managed, raising watery blue eyes to meet Ingrid's. 

Ingrid moved back down to rest on her haunches and reluctantly reached for the envelope. Carefully, she pulled back the flap of the manila packet, pulled out what appeared to be a newspaper article, and handed it to Grace. 

With a shaking hand, Grace raised the article and adjusted her sight to read in the waning evening light. As she read, Ingrid rose and walked around the little room, lighting several candles. By the time she'd finished, she turned to see Grace staring blankly into space. But it wasn't a zone. She'd seen enough of those in 15 years to know the difference. This was a slow reckoning, a coming to terms with the awful contents of what she'd just read. The article had been clipped from a relatively recent edition of the Cascade University Gazette. It was a letter to the editor discussing why it was wrong for the University to establish a Gay and Lesbian student group. A letter describing, with barely veiled vehemence, how homosexuality was a crime against God and nature, and how it was wrong that that people who participated in this lifestyle were going to be allowed to openly parade their perversion in front of others. The letter's author swore that as long as he was student body president, he would fight to prevent the group from becoming a reality. The letter was signed Stephen Ellison. 

"Well, he's his father's son." Grace said numbly, as the paper fluttered from her fingers and she stood and walked to the bedroom. 

Ingrid picked up the paper from the floor and put it, along with Jim's obituary, back into the envelope. She tucked the envelope inside a crudely built wooden chest that held many of the women's other keepsakes, and followed her partner into the bedroom. 

Grace curled up in the couple's bed, trying to deal with the indescribable pain that threatened to break her spirit once and for all. And Ingrid curled up behind her, holding her tightly, whispering over and over that no matter what they'd always have each other. They went to bed without bothering to return to the kitchen to put away the abandoned dinner. It would be overrun with ants by morning, but neither could bring themselves to care enough to move. When the torrential rain and mournful winds started a short while later, it seemed only fitting; it was a perfect reflection of the tempest inside them both. 

Exhausted from the long day, Ingrid drifted into a fitful sleep after an hour of offering what comfort she could. Grace never did. Instead, she lay staring into a darkness that had ceased being truly dark the moment her senses kicked in all those years ago and tracked the storm as it rolled in from the sea and intensified with each passing hour. And somewhere in the back of her grief-addled brain, she knew that it was raining much harder than normal, but she couldn't bring herself to care enough to decide if she should be worried. 

Morning never came the next day. The sky remained as black as midnight as the rain continued to pour down. And despite the fact that she had never slept, Grace still couldn't manage to pull herself out of bed. She wondered if she ever would again. 

It must have been 6:30 when a particularly loud clap of thunder awoke Ingrid. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and squinted to see in the darkness as another clap of thunder and a gale force gust of wind shook the house to its foundation. 

"Mmm, has it been raining all night?" Ingrid asked groggily. 

Grace didn't reply. 

Raising herself up on one arm, Ingrid looked over to see her lover staring blankly into the darkness. 

"We _will_ get through this, Grace. I promise." Ingrid said softly, and she rubbed her arm and planted a reassuring kiss on her partner's cheek. "I'll make some tea." she said, rising. 

Grace heard her pad across the bare wood floor into the next room, then the soft footsteps returned. "No water or firewood. I'm going to have to run out to the kitchen." Ingrid said as she pulled on clothes, boots, and a plastic rain poncho. "I won't be long." 

Listlessly, Grace tracked the sound of Ingrid rushing outside into the torrential downpour toward the kitchen, her plastic boots causing the wooden planks of the walkway to squelch in the thick, gluey mud into which their yard had been transformed. She heard the wooden door of the kitchen burst open, and then heard Ingrid gust a sigh of relief as she reached shelter from the hostile weather. They'd talked several times over the last decade about adding a kitchen and bathroom onto their little house; it would have made things so much easier on a day such as today. But somehow, they'd gotten used to trekking outside in the dark and in all but the worst weather - the kind they were currently experiencing - and it had ceased to bother either woman all that much. Consequently, the task had never been a high enough priority and they'd never gotten around to it. 

Grace heard her partner inside the little kitchen, covering up the food that had been left out the night before. The one positive effect of the rain was that it should have kept the ant invasion to a minimum. Otherwise, it would have been weeks before they would be able to get the infestation under control. That was a lesson they'd learned the hard way early in their time on the island. 

Then Grace heard Ingrid pulling a pottery pitcher from a cupboard and pumping water from their well into the container. She also heard her partner shoving several logs into the canvas bag they kept for that very purpose. Then the footsteps were racing across the walkway toward the house and Ingrid was back inside. 

"Tea will be ready in just a few minutes." Ingrid said from the living room. 

Grace pulled the quilt up to her chin and burrowed further into the bed. 

"It's too wet to go out and look for eggs, but once I've had my tea, I'll run back outside and make us some breakfast. I think we have some bread and cheese, or there's always cornmeal for porridge. Do you have a preference?" 

When she got no response, Ingrid returned to the bedroom. "I know the weather's awful, but don't you want to get up?" she asked. 

"What for?" 

"Well, for some breakfast, for one. Neither of us ate last night." 

"Not hungry." Grace mumbled from beneath the coverings. 

"You need to eat." 

"Ingrid, please." Grace implored. "I just want to be left alone. All right?" 

A long, painful minute passed. 

"All right." Ingrid said stiffly, and she turned and left the room. 

Grace smelled the gentle scent of the tea as the hot water that Ingrid had boiled over the open fire, hit the mix of herbs in the bottom of pottery mugs. She didn't move when Ingrid placed a steaming mug on the bedside table next to her. Rather, she turned over and adjusted her sense of smell so that she couldn't smell it anymore. While she was at it, she adjusted all her senses way below that of a normal person. She didn't want to see, feel, hear, or smell anything. She just wanted to stay in the safe haven of her bedroom and mourn. All these years on the island, she'd held out the hope of being reunited with her children one day. That was what kept her going through each of their tribulations. Now, her children were lost to her, one dead, the other filled for hatred for her kind. She was finding it hard to think of a reason to go on. At the moment, she just wanted to stay in a sensationless cocoon until she stopped breathing. 

With everything turned down so low, it was easy to slip into the zone. It was the absence of sensation, rather than one particular thing, that she focused on. She knew that it was probably dangerous, that she risked going so deep that she couldn't be reached, but she couldn't bring herself to care much about that, either. And she was vaguely aware, somewhere at a deeply instinctual level, that Ingrid was trying to get through to her, but she wasn't ready to come out of it yet. Ingrid had never had children, she would never understand, Grace thought to herself as she slipped deeper. So she'd just have to wait until Grace was ready to deal with this. Whenever that might be. 

Ultimately, it was the sound of Ingrid's sobs that worked through the multiple barriers that Grace had erected for herself. Slowly, Grace became aware of her partner's cries echoing through the darkened house and she shook off the fog and got out of bed. As she crossed the little house, the bare floorboards were cold against her feet, and she could still hear the heavy rain falling, and claps of thunder in the distance. The crackling fire was the only illumination. Ingrid was curled up in a chair, sobbing softly. She looked up with a start when she realized that Grace was standing in front of her. 

"Don't cry, Ingrid. You know I hate to see you cry." Grace said tenderly. 

Ingrid stared for a long moment, then briskly wiped the tears away and stood, fury blazing behind the brown eyes. 

"You insensitive bitch!" she spat. 

Stunned into silence, Grace stepped back at the unexpected venom. 

"How dare you do this to me. How dare you!" she screamed. 

"Wh - What?" Grace stammered. 

"You curl up in that bed and go god knows where, without so much as a word to me! I don't fucking know what's happened! I can't reach you! I can't go out and get help in this goddamn deluge, and I don't fucking know what to do! How could you _do_ that to me?" 

"I - I didn't mean to -" 

"You didn't mean to what? To hurt me? To totally disregard my feelings? To scare the shit out of me? To what?" Ingrid demanded hotly. 

"...uhm, yeah, all of the above, I guess. I'm sorry. How long was I out of it?" Grace asked timidly. 

"Almost two days! Do you have _any_ idea how scared I was? God damn it! We don't _do_ this to each other, Grace! We talk to each other, remember?" 

" I do, Ingrid. I remember and I'm sorry." 

"No you're not! You don't have a fucking clue! Fifteen years together and you still don't get it, do you? You just don't get it!" 

" I get it. I do." 

Ingrid rose from her chair, hugging herself against the chill, shaking her head sadly. She lowered her voice now, the initial burst of adrenaline having subsided to leave only exhaustion in its wake. "No, you don't. But the sad thing is, I didn't get it either, until now. All this time, I thought we were family." 

"We are. What are you talking about?" 

"No. I'm not your family. I was your substitute while you waited for your boys to be available. When that was no longer a possibility, you decided to check out. After all, what was left to hang around for, right?" 

"No, Ingrid! It wasn't like that." 

"Wasn't it? You think I don't know that you still blame me? After 15 years, you've never really forgiven me for taking you away from them. And, now you'll never get to see them again. I know you blame me." 

"I don't!" Grace insisted. 

"You can't lie to me, Grace. No one knows you better than I do." 

"Ingrid!" 

But Ingrid didn't give her partner a chance to reply. Instead, she headed toward the bedroom, skirting around Grace's attempt to reach out to her. And the sounds of her renewed sobs from the next room broke Grace's heart. Ingrid was always the strong one, had been Grace's protector as much as her partner all this time. She rarely cried, so to see her this way was that much more heart-wrenching. 

Sinking into the chair her partner had abandoned, Grace let her head fall into her hands. As the soft sounds washed over her, she knew that she'd really screwed up this time. 

The next sound she felt rather than heard. It was a low grade rumbling that vibrated her entire body. Grace could tell that Ingrid could neither hear nor feel it, but she did and every instinct she possessed told her that this was not good. In fact, this was the complete opposite of good. 

She was out of the chair and racing for the bedroom before she'd even consciously decided to do so. But before she even had time to shout a warning to her unsuspecting lover, the rumbling became a deafening roar and the ground shook so violently that Grace couldn't keep her balance. She crashed to the floor but kept clawing her way toward the bedroom, desperate to reach Ingrid. And as the entire house shook, she could hear Ingrid's screams, along with the sound of cracking wood and breaking glass, and the horrible moans and groans of their house. 

The next moments were a blur of sound and sensation. Grace tried desperately to hold on to something, anything as she was tossed and turned and tumbled, being assaulted all the while, first by heavy debris, then by wind and water, and a weight that enveloped, immobilized, and suffocated her. Stunned and confused, it took her a moment to realize when she'd stopped moving. She tried, but couldn't open her eyes, and she fought against whatever it was that was that held her down. Finally, she felt the thick soup around her give way and she realized that she was outside, covered with mud and debris, with the rain pouring down on her. She managed to open her eyes to see pure devastation. 

Later, she would learn that the storm had dumped three months worth of rain on the island over a two-day period, saturating the earth until it just couldn't take anymore. Now, all she knew was that where their idyllic little house once sat, was little more than a river of mud, rocks, and trees. The landslide had cut a swath down the hills, through the women's property, and continuing on for god only knew how far. Their house had been sheered in two, with Grace being tossed in the half that was almost buried 50 yards from its original spot, and the other half still in place, but having collapsed in on itself. And as she wiped the mud out of her eyes and hair, she realized that she was damn lucky to be alive at all. But then the worst realization of all hit; Ingrid was nowhere to be seen. 

She was screaming then. Screaming Ingrid's name over the ongoing wails of the storm as she extricated herself and clawed her way through the quicksand-like mud toward where she'd last heard her lover. 

She screamed until her voice was nearly raw, oblivious to the fact that her own safety was in jeopardy not only from the very real possibility of another landslide, but from the bolts of lightening that were striking the ground nearby with alarming frequency. It didn't matter though. She was going to find her lover or die trying. Her boys were lost to her, if she lost Ingrid, she truly had nothing. Absolutely nothing. And she wouldn't survive that; she wouldn't want to. 

So, in the pouring rain, she focused her senses like she'd never done before, knowing that it was dangerous, that she could zone without her guide to ground her, but also knowing that she had no other choice. She listened for movements, for cries, for breathing, for anything. And each time she thought she'd found the right spot, she dug through the mud and debris with her bare hands, until her fingers bled, until every bruised and battered muscle cried out in protest, but she wouldn't stop. She was possessed. 

She didn't know how long she searched, but the rain was finally starting to die down when she heard the first sign of life. It was a muffled groan that was barely audible, even to her highly focused senses. She followed the sound a good 100 yards from where the house had stood, to a lake of mud where their lovely little creek once flowed. And there, she started to dig once again with her bare hands, for there was no time to search for tools. And she dug for what seemed like hours, but was likely only a couple of minutes, until she hit something solid, something wooden. And with a strength possessed only by desperate mothers or rampaging drug addicts, she managed to uncover what appeared to be the remnants of the door to their kitchen and pulled it back to reveal the body of her partner. 

Dropping down next to Ingrid, she pulled the limp body into her arms, wiping mud out of her beloved's eyes, nose, and mouth. And somehow through her panicked frenzy, it sunk in that she had heard her lover moan, and that if she focused, she could hear her heart beating strong and sure, and that although her breathing was somewhat congested, she _was_ breathing. 

Grace saw then that underneath them was part of the roof from their covered walkway, and she realized that the door and the roof must have created a little air pocket that kept Ingrid somewhat protected. Chanting an Indian prayer of thanks, she took the hem of her soaked, filthy nightgown and tried to clean the dirt from her lover's face. 

"Ingrid. Ingrid. It's me. You're okay." she said soothingly as she ran her hands across her lover's body, searching for signs of broken bones or internal injury. To her almost insane relief, she found evidence of neither. So she kept up the chatter, and finally, when her throat was so sore that no more sound would come out and all she could do was gently stroke her partner's face, she looked down to see two cloudy, but grateful brown eyes staring back at her. 

At that point, the priority was getting them both someplace warm and dry. Scanning the area, she spotted their barn. Well, it was less a barn, really, than a little shack; it was just large enough to shelter their animals from the elements. But it was the only building that appeared to have escaped damage from the slide. It wasn't ideal, but it was all there was. 

Managing to get her lover to her unsteady feet, they made their way through the thick mud toward the building. Once inside, she set her partner down on the dirt floor. They were filthy, soaking, and shivering and Grace knew that they needed a fire, some dry clothes, and blankets. Leaving her partner in the shack, Grace made her way back to the rubble of their home. In the half that hadn't been completely destroyed, the roof had toppled down and Grace hoped that underneath the rubble, some of their things would have survived. 

Carefully pushing aside timbers and the sharp sheets of corrugated metal that had comprised the roof, Grace scavenged in the remains of their home. With the rain finally ceasing and the clouds starting to break to let in rays of sunlight, she spotted their armoire, toppled over onto its side, doors ajar. She crawled under what had been ceiling beams, pushing aside and scrambling over the remnants of their life until she reached the closet. Inside, she was relieved to see both extra clothing and blankets. The items weren't completely dry, or clean for that matter, but they were a hell of a lot better than what they had. Grabbing what she could, she then found a chair that had managed to remain reasonably dry underneath a panel of collapsed roofing. Prizes in hand, Grace found her way back to the barn. Inside, Ingrid was shivering violently, her arms wrapped around herself to try to retain what warmth she could. 

"Hang in there. I'm going to make a fire." 

Swiftly, efficiently, Grace took a small hatchet from the wall of the barn and broke apart the chair, smashing some of it small enough to be kindling. Sensitive fingers felt each piece to determine which was the driest, then created a spark with a flint, and soon a fire was roaring to life. Heat radiated into the small enclosure, filling it with warmth. 

That accomplished, Grace tended to Ingrid, maneuvering her carefully out of the wet, dirty clothes, mindful of her partner's numerous cuts and bruises. Unfortunately, there was no clean water to wash with at present, so Grace settled for wiping off as much of the mud as she could, and getting her partner into the relatively dry clothing. Then she wrapped Ingrid in one of the blankets she'd found and moved her partner closer to the now raging fire. Warmth was the most important thing; they could clean later. 

With Ingrid seen to, Grace pulled off her own wet clothing and dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater and sat next to her shivering partner, wrapping an arm around her. 

"Are you okay? 

"I'll be all right." Ingrid said softly. 

"Jesus, Ingrid. I could have lost you." Grace said, pulling her partner into a desperate embrace and burying her face in the scratchy wool blanket. 

"I'm okay." 

Grace held her lover for several minutes more, silently thanking the gods that had reunited them as she tried to rub warmth back into the shivering frame. "This is everything I feared, you know?" she said softly after a moment. "During those first awful weeks after we escaped, I had recurring nightmares about exactly this, about losing them both. And it's come true. My worst fears have come true. And I didn't want to shut you out, but there wasn't room for both you and the pain, so I had to work through the pain alone." 

"You have a right to mourn your loss, Gracie. I should have been more understanding, but I guess I've always been a little jealous of the space they still occupied in your heart after all this time. It's so selfish of me, but I've always wanted to be your everything, your friend, your partner, your lover, your protector. I wanted to do it all. I _tried_ to do it all. But it was never enough. They were always there. And I was afraid that if you were reunited, that I'd be left behind. So when I realized that wasn't going to happen....." Ingrid choked back a sob. "I was glad. I'm so ashamed, but I was glad, because that meant you would finally be mine alone. But then you weren't. Even with them both lost to you, they still had that corner of your heart. If anything, it had grown even bigger, and I was afraid that I would lose you after all. So I lashed out. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Gracie. So sorry." Ingrid sobbed. 

"You're not my substitute, Ingrid. You never were. You saved my life. I know that." Grace said, holding back her own hot tears. It was her turn to be strong now. "I'm sorry that I blamed you all those years ago for taking me away from the children. I was out of my mind with grief and I lashed out, but I didn't mean it, not even then. You're the love of my life. You're my best friend, my partner, my guide, you're everything to me. You always have been. I'm sorry if I ever made you think otherwise. I don't know what I would have done if...." 

The two women held each other, then, crying quiet tears of reassurance. Each comforting the other with their presence, with the knowledge that had been missing for fifteen years, that absolutely nothing could break their bond. 

"You are right. There's a part of my heart that will always belong to Jamie and Stephen. I gave birth to them, they're part of me. I'll always love them, even though I've lost them. But, Ingrid, the part of my heart that belongs to you is so huge. I don't have the words to express how much I love you. You don't need to be jealous of the boys, because no matter what, we'll always have each other." 

"And we have this place. We'll always have this place." Ingrid added. "You were right all those years ago, you know. This place is special. I don't know why, but we belong here. I know it's not exactly the same, but we've got the largest extended family imaginable just down the road. Any one of them would protect us with their lives." 

Grace wiped a tear from her partner's mud-stained cheek, then leaned forward and kissed her softly. "All I need is you. As long as we're together, I'll be okay." 

"I'm sorry. I'm so stupid." Ingrid moaned, from the safety of her lover's embrace. 

"After all this time, we're still fighting over the same thing." Grace said with a sad shake of her head. "You're not stupid. Neither of us are. We just need to communicate better, not take each other for granted. We have to say what we mean to each other." 

"Well, I mean to say that I love you, Gracie." 

"And I love you, too." 

The women held each other for a long time, savoring the closeness and the body heat. They'd barely separated when they heard frantic voices approaching, calling their names. Two young children, followed at a short distance by two women, rushed into the barn, speaking in fast, broken Maracan. They explained that the landslide had buried several houses in the village and pleaded for the Sentinel to come and use her senses to help locate the missing. 

"It's all right. I'm okay." Ingrid said, seeing Grace's reluctance to leave. 

"I don't want to...." 

"Go. Be the sentinel. They - your family needs you more than I do now. I'll be waiting when you return." 

"I love you." Grace said, as the Indians pulled her away impatiently. 

"I love you, too." Ingrid said softly, because she knew that she didn't have to say it any louder. Her sentinel could hear her, would always hear her no matter what. 

V 

I moaned at the sound of the insistent barking from down the beach. As I sat up, Blair stirred and opened one bleary, blue eye. 

"Is that Bodie?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep. 

"Yeah, he's been barking for a while. That's not like him." 

"Can you hear anything over there?" Blair asked, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. 

"No, only Bodie." I said after listening for a minute. 

"We should go over and make sure Allison's okay." Blair said, tossing back the sheets and climbing out of bed. 

"Yeah, good idea." 

I stood and pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that I had folded neatly and hung over a chair the night before. Blair, on the other hand, pulled on a pair of wrinkled board shorts and a tank top that had only by chance managed to land on the same chair in a crumpled heap. 

"You sure you don't hear anything?" Blair asked again as we made our way down the beach. 

"No. From the sounds of it, Bodie's the only one there." 

"I don't like it, Jim. Allison doesn't usually leave Bodie unattended like that. Usually she takes him with her or drops him off to stay with us, or .... Jim?" Blair said when he realized that I had stopped in my tracks just short of Allison's front porch. 

My nostrils flared slightly as I scented something. Something I didn't like. 

"What is it?" 

"Maybe you'd better wait here." I said after a moment and I moved toward the building. 

Bodie, who was lying in front of the door, growled and bared his teeth as I approached. He had never done that before. 

"It's okay, boy. It's just me." I said in my most soothing voice as I approached the animal. Tentatively, I extended my hand to rub his head. He sniffed cautiously, but allowed me to pet him, and allowed me to pass to the door. 

The dog stood and whimpered as I pushed the unlocked door open, and he followed me inside. By the looks of the claw marks I'd spied on the front door, he'd been scratching for a long time, trying to get in. 

I moved cautiously into the house, dialing up all my senses to detect any sign of danger. I was vaguely aware of Blair fidgeting nervously outside, but I was assailed even more strongly by the scent of death. I wished I'd had my gun, even though I knew I didn't need it. But there would have been something very reassuring about holding the hot hard steel in the palm of my hand like a security blanket. Because I needed a security blanket to protect me against what I knew I was going to see when I turned the corner into the bedroom. 

She looked, for all the world, as if she were only sleeping. She lay peacefully in the big bed, her lustrous black curls a glaring contrast to the stark white cotton linens and the simple silk nightgown. But it was too quiet, too still, unnaturally still, as a matter of fact. And when I glanced around, I realized how unusually neat it was, neat because Allison had packed everything up. The boxes lined the wall, neatly taped and labeled. And when I looked back to her, I saw the empty pill bottles and wine glass on the nightstand, along with the sheet of notepaper covered with her impatient cursive script. 

"Jim, what the hell's going on in there, man?" I heard Blair shout anxiously from outside. 

Coming back to myself, I grabbed the note, and turned, leaving Bodie where he had taken up vigil next to Allison's bed, and rushed outside just as Blair was mounting the terrace. 

"Don't go inside, Blair." I said seriously. 

"Jim, what is it? Tell me." 

"She's dead, Blair." I said simply. 

"Wh - What? What are you talking about?" 

"I'm afraid she's gone. It looks like she committed suicide." I said, holding up the suicide note. 

"Don't fuck around with me, Jim. This isn't funny." Blair warned. 

"No, it's not. Blair!" 

Blair ran past me into the little house and I heard him stop, heard his pained gasp, heard his heart race. Before long, I heard him stumbling over a chair, and saw him come bursting through the open door. And then he was on his knees, retching in the sand. I moved to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder, offering what support I could. 

"Why would she do such a thing?" Blair finally asked as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

I quickly scanned the note. "Her note says she was sick, inoperable brain tumor. She didn't have much time left. She decided to end it before the illness took over." 

"Fuck.." Blair whispered brokenly. 

"Look... Blair...." I hesitated. "Ahm, one of us is going to have to go into town to notify the authorities so they can take her body away. I can - " 

"No, I'll do it. I'll go." 

"Blair - " 

"It's all right. Someone should stay with her, make sure..." He stumbled over the words, his eyes large and full of fear. "Someone should stay with her. And I can't.... so I'll go." 

And he rushed away, without even waiting for me to respond. 

There wasn't really anything for me to do aside from guard the house while I waited for Blair to return with the authorities. Allison had pretty much wrapped everything up. Her belongings were neatly packed away, and my nose told me that there was no food or drink left in the little kitchen. I even detected the strong scent of the ubiquitous pine cleaner favored on the island; she'd cleaned before she took her life. She'd had a plan, and she had executed it quite efficiently. 

So I sat on the terrace and waited. Approximately two hours had passed when Blair returned with the authorities. It took several more hours for them to take our statements and to take Allison's body away. When the ambulance pulled out of the little cove, we were left alone, and the beach seemed unnaturally quiet. Without saying a word, we walked down the beach to our own little house and went inside, followed by Bodie. 

"You haven't had a thing to eat all day. I'll make lunch." I said as I made my way to the little kitchen. 

"Not hungry." Blair said as he sank down into the sofa. 

"You need to eat something.". 

"I said I'm not hungry." Blair snapped. 

I stared at the uncharacteristic flash of mood, then turned and moved back toward the sofa and sat next to Blair. 

"You gonna be okay?" 

Blair sighed heavily and pulled a hand through his hair. It was thick from the humidity and full of tangles, he'd never gotten the opportunity to comb it that morning. 

"I'll be okay." he said after he struggled to free his fingers from the tangled riot of curls. "It's just a shock. I wish she'd said something. Maybe we could have helped." 

"It sounds like she was in pain, Blair. This is the way she wanted it. She didn't want to be a burden to anyone." 

"It wouldn't have been a burden. We could have - we could have..." his voice trailed off with despair at the futility of his words. We couldn't have done anything, and he knew that. 

"She came to St. Sebastian to die, Blair. This was the way she wanted it. It was her choice." I said calmly, laying a hand on his arm. 

"Well her choice sucked." Blair said hotly, snatching his arm away and rising to his feet. "I need some air. I'm going for a walk." 

I sighed with frustration as my partner rushed outside and down the hot afternoon sand. But I didn't follow. Blair needed his space; I could give him that. I did, however, track him with both hearing and sight all the while as he walked for miles, down the beach, up into the hills, and back again. I had to make sure that Blair was safe, that his distress didn't cause him to inadvertently stumble into danger. The sun was just sinking behind the horizon when he finally returned. 

"I'm going to call it a night." Blair said wearily as he headed straight for the bathroom. 

"Blair, can we talk about this?" 

"No, Jim. I don't want to talk about it, okay? Not now. Maybe tomorrow, but not now. I just want to sleep. I'm exhausted." 

"You're the one that always says we should talk about things." I pressed. 

"Yeah, I know what I always say. Well, I'm full of shit, okay? So could you just give me some space? Please?" 

"Yeah. Okay. Whatever you want." I said, backing off in the face of Blair's renewed anger. 

"Thanks." he said tiredly, and he disappeared into the bathroom and the luxury of a hot bath. 

It was still too early for me, and I suspected that Blair still wanted to be alone for a while anyway, so I settled in the living room with a book, one that I only pretended to read, while I tracked the movements of my partner. 

Blair washed quickly, then settled down and by the sound of it, fell asleep almost instantly. But barely an hour had passed before I detected a spike in his heart rate, followed in rapid succession by thrashing, and then screaming, screaming my name. I raced into the room. The glassy sheen of his eyes told me that he wasn't awake. 

"Blair! Wake up!" I yelled as I tried to grab him by the shoulders to still him, but it wasn't easy with his arms flailing about. 

I shook him and he stopped flailing and stared at me without a trace of recognition. 

"It's me. You're just having a dream. You're all right. You're all right." 

Awareness returned to Blair's eyes and he looked at me, his chest heaving from the exertion of his fight, then he pushed me away and scrambled out of the bed, cringing against the wall. 

"You're all right. It's okay." I said cautiously, reaching out, but not touching him. 

"I saw you..." Blair breathed. 

"I'm right here." 

"No! No. In my dream. I saw you." the words tumbled out. "On the bluff. I saw you, and you pulled the trigger. I couldn't get to you, and you.... you. Jesus." he sobbed and he buried his face in his hands. 

A light switched on. It wasn't just Allison's death that had upset Blair so much; it was the memories that were still a bit too raw that the event stirred up. 

"I'm all right, Blair. That was just a dream. You made it. I'm all right." I said, moving cautiously toward him. 

Blair cringed away and shut his eyes tightly as he fought back the images. 

"I'm all right. We both are." I said again and I moved to take him into my arms. 

"You asshole!" Blair screamed and he pushed me away. 

"Blair, you gotta calm down. Let's sit and talk about this." 

"You were gonna do it. You were gonna blow your fucking head off _right_ in front of me! You goddamn asshole! How could you _do_ that?" 

I stared, open-mouthed, without the slightest idea what I could possibly say to make this better. 

"Did you have any idea what that would have done to me?" Blair asked brokenly. "Did you think about _anyone_ but yourself?" 

I felt my mouth moving a minute before the words finally came out. "At the time, I thought I was doing what was best for everyone, including you." 

"Fucking liar!" Blair accused. "You're so full of shit! You were doing what was best for you. That's the problem around here. Everyone's ready to take the easy way out at the fucking drop of a hat, without the slightest concern for the people that are left behind. The ones...." he stopped, panting with his anger. 

"Blair, look..... just ... let's just sit down. Come out to the living room and let's talk." I said as calmly as I could manage, and I reached out my hand. I had to get this situation under control. 

"Don't you fucking patronize me!" Blair yelled and with a sound thump to my solar plexus, he pulled away and rushed past me into the living room. 

I stood, stunned, for a moment. Blair was stronger than he looked and that had hurt. When I turned, I saw Blair slumped down into the sofa, hunched over, elbows resting on his knees, eyes resolutely focused on the floor. And I could hear him inhaling and exhaling, trying to calm himself with one of the breathing exercises he was always trying to force on me. Slowly, I turned and walked to where he sat. I eased down to my knees in front of him. 

Blair looked up, his blue eyes full of pain and chagrin. 

"Jesus, I'm sorry." 

"Hell of a thump, there." I said, trying for lightness over the pain still present in my chest. I could have dialed it down, but I felt I deserved at least that much for the pain I'd caused Blair. It would fade soon enough, anyway. 

Blair let out a weary sigh. "Man, I get on your case about not discussing your feelings and I've got a boatload of my own repressed issues here. Why do you let me get away with shit like that, huh?" 

I smiled. "I figure I owe you at least that much. After all, you've put up with plenty of my shit for the last four years." 

"Yeah, I suppose you're right." Blair said with a little chuckle. Then he exhaled again and leaned back. "I've been so busy trying to keep you from falling apart the last three months, that I guess I never really processed the whole.... I never processed it." 

I placed a hand on Blair's knee. I didn't say anything. I could tell that he was going to let it all spill without prompting. I only needed to sit back and listen. Blair leaned forward and looked down at the floor again and twisted his hands anxiously in the canvas-covered cushions. When he finally looked up, his eyes were glistening with tears. 

"Jim, I... I've never been so scared. Running up that bluff, feeling like my lungs were going to burst, wondering if I was going to be too late because I couldn't get my lazy ass into the gym once in a while..." 

"Blair - " I said, pained. 

"I wanted to scream, to shout out, to tell you that I was coming, but I couldn't, I didn't have the air. And in my head, I was praying to every god I knew, praying that... that..." The words came out in a rush, then stopped abruptly as he choked up. 

"Blair," I said, leaning forward and smoothing a hand across each thigh, trying to soothe. "I swear to god that I never wanted to hurt you." 

"Why did you do it?" 

I started to speak, then stopped. How could I possibly make Blair understand? After taking a moment to steel myself, I soldiered on. 

"If I'd had any idea of what you felt for me, what we could have...." I paused, sighed, then looked up, meeting Blair's questioning gaze. "I can barely remember a time when I wasn't in pain, Blair. It was such an integral part of my life that I almost became numb to it. Every day, _every_ single day, was a desperate struggle to keep my head above water. And you came along, and you were a life preserver, and I hung on. Believe me, I hung on for dear life. But after a while, I didn't even have the strength to do that anymore. I was too tired, and it was too black. God, it was so black. And I couldn't imagine that things would ever be better." 

I wiped away a tear that rolled down Blair's cheek. 

"I thought I would lose you like all the others. If not to a dream job with tenure or a dig in some far off land, then to a wife, or worse, to some madman with a grudge against me. All things considered, I'd rather have you alive and well, but in the end, the result would have been the same. I'd be alone again, in that cavernous loft, listening to the sound of my own voice echo off the rafters. And I simply couldn't bare the thought of being alone again. But with me gone, everyone was better off. You, because you'd finally be safe, and me, because I didn't have to face the emptiness." 

I took both of Blair's hands in mine and squeezed them tightly. "But that was a different person up there on that bluff, Blair. Thanks to you, I'm not that man anymore." 

Blair's eyes widened and he wiped impatiently at them, then grasped my hands again. I could feel the dampness in the vice-like grip, and the salt made my skin tingle ever so slightly. 

"You gotta promise me, Jim, that if you ever reach that point again, that you'll talk to me, that you'll let me help you. You gotta promise." he said quickly, desperately. 

"I promise." 

"No, really mean it. Swear to me - " 

"I swear." 

"Swear on... swear on.... " 

"Swear on what? I'll swear on whatever you want me to." 

Blair stared into my eyes, studying them, searching for the one thing that I valued above all else to make the promise stick. 

"Swear on _my_ life." he said, sentinel soft. 

I froze as the impact of the request sank in. Then I moved closer and took Blair's face between my hands. "I swear on your life." 

Blair gasped, and his eyes never left mine. He scoured their depths, looking for any small sign that I wasn't being truthful. But he couldn't find any. I knew, because I'd never been so serious in all my life. And when he realized that I meant every word, he lunged forward into my arms, letting out a cry of relief. 

"I'll never hurt you again. I swear to god I'll never hurt you again." I whispered vehemently as I held him tightly. 

oOo 

Blair knelt down and ran a hand over the marble headstone. It was cool and smooth, and the inscription was simple, but meaningful, "Allison Seabrook, A friend too soon departed." He placed a rose on the fresh grave, then stood, and I knew he was grateful when I moved to his side and put my arm around him. There were no words. We didn't need any. Just silent respect for the friend we wished had stayed with us a little bit longer. 

As we turned to leave, I pulled Blair close and kissed him rather chastely on the forehead. It was a move designed to comfort, but it was also meant to be a very public declaration of our relationship, my first. His eyes widened momentarily, and he looked around to see if anyone had noticed. There weren't many people present, but several who were there had definitely seen us. I couldn't have cared less. Blair smiled at me then called Bodie, and we made our way back home. 

VI 

I reclined in the lounge chair, my sensitive eyes shielded from the glare of the hot white sand with dark rimmed glasses. Down the beach a ways, Blair romped with Bodie, tossing a stick back and forth and in and out of the water. 

It had been a month since Allison had passed, and we were just beginning to get back to ourselves. I had to admit, though, that the beach was a lonelier place without her around. I hadn't realized how much I'd grown to like her in such a short period of time. Blair and I would never forget her. If for no other reason than the fact that we'd adopted Bodie as our own. It was one of Allison's last requests, included in the note that explained her illness and how she'd come to St. Sebastian to spend her last months alone, but how those months had been so much happier than she ever could have imagined because of her friendship with Blair and me. 

The note had also directed us to the location of her will. We'd discovered that she was actually quite wealthy. She'd left the bulk of her estate to a hospice for the terminally ill on the island, but she'd also made provisions for us. There was a sum of money, mainly for the purpose of looking after Bodie, but we added it to the sum designated for the hospice. We didn't need payment to look after Bodie; we'd been hopelessly attached to him from the start. We'd probably have adopted him even if Allison hadn't asked. 

As I kept one watchful eye on Blair and Bodie, I ran my hand over the leather binding of the last of my mother's journals. Blair had only brought a few, but it had been a pretty good cross section of her lifetime. This one happened to be the very last. I wasn't sure if that was by accident or by design - although knowing Blair it was probably by design - but it had been a good idea. I'd learned a lot about my mom over the last several months. If it was possible, I felt closer to her now than I had as a child. 

As I opened the book and turned toward the back, two envelopes fell out. They were sealed, and bore my mom's precise script. One was addressed to me, the other to Stephen. I studied them both for a minute, then carefully tucked the one addressed to Stephen back inside the book. Then I slid a finger under the flap of the envelope addressed to me and pulled out the contents. I didn't hesitate before unfolding the leaves of thin paper. 

Even though the letter was written before she'd come to Cascade, it was clear that she knew she didn't have much longer. She wasn't even sure when she wrote it if she was going to actually be able to meet me, but she wrote it anyway. 

She told me of her life, and her regrets, and her love for Ingrid. She tried to explain to me what she was, not knowing at that time that we shared the same genetic gifts. And she told me not to blame my Dad for what had happened to her, because he'd done the best he could and she'd forgiven him long ago. 

I smiled as I reached the end, when she told me she loved me, that she was sorry for leaving me and for the years we'd lost, the she was proud of me, and that her fondest wish was for me to be healthy, happy, and fulfilled. 

As I folded the thin sheets and reinserted them in the envelope, I realized that I wasn't mad at my mother any more, not for leaving me in the company of a harsh and insensitive father, or for passing her sentinel genes on to me. I'd grieved enough for the lonely little boy who was always considered a freak. It was time to let that go. Time to stop brooding over the injustices of the past and get on with my future. 

I could do that, because now I understood what an amazing woman she had been. I knew what kind of strength she'd had to possess to endure the life she'd had. She was a fighter who hung in there and did the best she could under circumstances that would have undone ninety-nine percent of the population. Not only was I proud of her, I loved her. And I thanked god that she had passed her strength on to me along with the heightened senses. 

I tucked the letter back inside the book and leaned back, closing my eyes against the bright rays of the sun. They felt great, almost like a caress down my entire body. Then I opened my eyes and looked up into the endless blue of the sky. I took in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the salty sea air, and let it out slowly. Fuck, that felt good. I felt alive. For the first time in ages, maybe ever, I felt alive. 

Blair tossed one last frisbee to Bodie and came to sit next to me. 

"Ten francs for your thoughts." 

"What happened to a penny?" 

"Well, you know, we're in the islands, exchange rate and all that." 

I smiled, reached out and took my lover's hand and pressed it to my lips, then held it firmly, twining our fingers together. "I was just thinking that I'm sitting on an endless expanse of pristine white sand beach in a tropical paradise, with the man I love. And I wondered how it could ever get any better than this." 

A megawatt smile lit up Blair's face as he shifted to lie down with his head in my lap. "Sweet talker." 

"Guilty as charged." 

Blair pondered the sky for a minute or two, then turned as Bodie settled next to us and began to gnaw contentedly on the frisbee. Finally, his eyes traveled to the leather-bound journal that lay next to us in the sand. He ran his hand over the book. 

"Still mad at me for bringing these?" 

I covered his hand with mine. "No. I stopped being mad at you long ago. It was a good idea, actually." 

He grinned up at me. "So, you're going to do what I say without question next time?" 

"Don't get carried away." I groused, although we both knew I would. 

"You were right." I added after a minute. "I learned a lot about her." 

"Yeah? Like what?" 

"She was an amazing person, really brave." 

"Kind of like her son." 

I whapped him playfully in the head, but I couldn't hide my pleasure. My cherished guide never failed to stroke my ego. 

"I'm glad that she and Ingrid found each other. I'm glad that she had someone to be there for her. It wasn't easy for them; they had a lot of ups and downs. But they really loved each other. And without Ingrid, I don't know what would have happened to her. Maybe she'd still be locked up in that asylum, all alone." 

Blair didn't say anything, but he squeezed my hand in silent reassurance. Perhaps he was thinking the same thing that I was, that I probably would have been in the cell next to her if he hadn't come along. 

"To have found two such fabulous guides, I think, perhaps, that my mother and I have been the two luckiest people in the world." 

Blair sat up and looked at me, his eyes a little misty. "You mean that? Even with everything that's happened?" 

"If that's what I had to endure to end up here, with you, it's all been worth it. Every second." 

He smiled a shaky smile. "Man, you're gonna give me a swelled head." he joked. 

I shrugged. "It's the truth. I bet if my mom were still alive, she'd say the same about Ingrid." 

"And I bet Ingrid would say ditto. Just like I do." Blair said, very seriously. 

I leaned forward and kissed him. "Well, then, it looks like we have consensus." 

Then I pulled him down into the sand, and kissed him like there was no tomorrow, because heck, with us, you just never knew. And as we were rolling around, Bodie decided that he wanted in on the game, and soon he was racing around us, jumping on top of us, nipping at our ears, and licking at our faces. Soon, we were both laughing much too hard for further romantic endeavors. 

I sat up and grabbed the dog, putting him in a headlock and wrestling him to the sand. Then I was rubbing his belly and scratching behind his ears, and he was eating it up. When I'd had enough, I turned to see Blair sitting up, watching me, his eyes full of light and laughter. 

"Clearly, I have a rival for your attentions." 

I turned back to the dog, grabbed the abandoned frisbee, and tossed it down the beach. Bodie ran happily after the shiny red disc and I returned to my lover. 

"Don't be jealous. I have enough love for both of you." 

"I know you do." Blair said, and although the grin remained, his tone told me that he knew exactly how much love I had to give, and how I'd been waiting all my life to share it with one mop-topped anthropologist, and an orphaned yellow dog. 

"I think I'm ready to go." 

"Where to?" 

I pondered a minute. The world was our oyster, really. We could go anywhere we wanted, do anything our hearts desired. As I considered our options, I looked up at the sky and then down to where Bodie had abandoned his frisbee to chase after much more interesting sea gulls, and finally, back to my lover, who was waiting patiently for my response. 

"To Santo Matteo." 

"I hear it's quite nice there this time of year." he said knowingly, as if there had ever been any choice. 

"Well, you know, I had a hankering for some South American food, so...." 

"Well, we'd better get going then. We've got preparations to make." 

And we stood and collected our things, whistled to Bodie, and went into our little cottage to pack. 

* * *

End Resuscitation by gowestgirl: gowestgirl@mac.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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